When our son, Jamie, was little, he was enamoured of super heroes. His favorite plaything was a cape. My supply of bathroom towels was always being raided and I was often enisted to find and fasten a safety pin on one draped around his impatient 9-year-old shoulders. One year he even received one for a special day (birthday or Christmas, I don't remember. I also don't remember if I gave it to him or just suggested it to his married sister when she asked for a gift idea.) I just remember his "yes!" grin when he put the huge black thing around him.
This came to mind the other day when we were tending our chickens, and I thought of the day some 30 years ago when I went into our backyard and was shocked to see all his father's flock wearing paper capes! Jamie had somehow fastened a napkin around each feathered neck. They were dashing about a bit awkwardly, as if uncertain whether to fly or escape their extra wing.
Now his little girls are in that stage; I have a birthday photo of 6-year-old Anne-Marie in her super-hero cape in accordance with her party theme. In the kaleidoscopic way time has of overlapping memories, I can see myself watching "Max and Ruby," a cartoon I viewed daily as I baby-sat with my then pre-school granddaughter 10 or 11 years ago. In retrospect, Jamie as a kid reminds me of Max, who didn't say much, but always came up with unexpected ideas that left him with a self-satisfied little grin.
"Look, Howard," I pointed out to my husband that day last week at the chicken pen. "I believe that chicken is sick!" She was standing motionless apart from the others, her feathers slightly ruffled and her dull-colored comb flopped down listlessly. The other hens were sleek and energetic with their red combs a bright contrast to their lustrous white feathers. She did peck at the food a bit, and I saw her at the water feeder, so at least she was eating and drinking.
"Remember how shocked we were when we went out one day to look at your chickens and they all had crooked necks?" I reminded my husband about his long-ago flock. We had consulted a vet immediately and found out the condition was called "wry neck". Thankfully, the medicine we got to put in their water made them as good as new in a day or two. I don't remember what caused it, but it probably crossed my mind that our caped crusader could have been behind it with his costume enthusiasm!
At any rate, our hen is now okay, and our son is now a crusader for the only real super hero, our Lord Jesus Christ, whom Jamie proclaims weekly from his pulpit. He has a hero's heart.
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