Dad, see how I run

When dad had enough of my endless chatter, he would hand me the salt shaker so he could read the newspaper and have his coffee in peace. He explained to my five year old self that if I snuck up on a little bird and sprinkled some salt on his tail, the poor creature wouldn't be able to fly, and I could catch it and keep it as a pet. Ever hopeful, I spent hours chasing after little sparrows. I never got what I wanted. But dad did.

Forty-five years or more have passed and I've never met anyone who had heard that tale before. In fact, I'd almost forgotten about it myself. Until one morning this year while visiting my daughter in New Zealand, when I shuffled bleary-eyed into her kitchen. Reaching for the coffee, what did I spy but a container of salt whose label featured a little boy chasing a bird and trying to shake salt on its tail.



I travelled 8744 miles to find out that the story my dad told me was not one he had made up. Even better, Someone travelled from eternity and sprinkled me with salt and blood. My heart was captured, and my soul set free, as free as a bird. Some stories you hear are true.