We do not recall our lives in days, months or years. Our memories remain as moments. Today, I shall take you back to one of those moments and return you to the present by sharing what it is like for a parent to recognize his child as an adult.

At 15, many things can matter a great deal to a boy. He is concerned about how he is perceived by his friends, teachers and other adults. His emotions are at a vulnerable stage of development in this process of growth. He might want to cry like a child, yet the adult in him says he should not . . . at least not in front of anyone.

At 15, he learned that his lifelong companion had died. His cat, Toby, preceded him in birth by almost a year. Toby displayed his natural curiosity by placing his cool, moist nose against the soft, warm hand of a sleeping infant. In no time at all, that baby was grasping at a ball of fur which kept leaping just beyond his reach.

Gaining the greater mobility of a toddler, the boy soon caught Toby by the tail. Any other cat might have reacted with a fierce, decisive sweep of one paw capable of inflicting wounds from razor-sharp claws. Not Toby. He seemed to understand that this 'human kitten' meant no harm and only wanted to play.

Toby shared his food with this larger, crawly thing . . . much to the displeasure of the child's parents . . . and the boy shared his bed with Toby. A seal-point Siamese cat and a curly-headed little boy became pals in the warmest sense of that word.

The two of them shared fifteen years together. Being older, and of course wiser, Toby must have realized his job was almost completed. He was beginning to show his age. He continued to sleep with the boy, but had to be lifted up to his place beside his master.

Though Toby was an important part of his life, the young man was experiencing other matters of importance. He was doing what came naturally for a teenager . . . he was growing up. Toby was doing what came naturally for a pet . . . he was there.

Toby was there when it came time for the boy to feed him. He was there for the boy to hold him and gently stroke his gray, old head. Toby was there, by the door, waiting for the boy to return home from school.

And, then . . . Toby was no longer there.

Toby will always be where it always really mattered: Forever in the soul of the boy who loved him.

At 15, it is hard to admit you are defenseless against an emotion which tugs at your heart and threatens to make you cry. When he was 15, I told my son, "Go ahead and cry. I did."

It was not only because Toby had died . . . it was also, for me, a symbolic passing of my son's childhood.

My son is nearly thirty, now. He has successfully made his own way in life and I am especially proud of his accomplishments. He has two cats, as well as his fond memories of Toby.

I adored him as a child . . . I deeply respect him as an adult.

22 February 2001

*****


The following letter is in response to this story.

It was written by one of my guest authors, William Pierce. Bill and I have often discussed how our writing is comparable in style with regard to touching the human spirit with universal truths which can evoke emotions and stir our readers to recall their own, similar memories.

Gary,

Thank you so much for sharing. When a child is fifteen he or she somewhat understands mortality. Our first granddaughter, Jennifer, lived with us until she was four years old. One summer day as I was sitting on the porch steps watching her play in the yard, she bent over and picked up something in both hands. She very gently held it and walked very carefully to where I was sitting.

"Grandpa, look I found this little birdie." She held a sparrow that had very recently died. "Can we keep him?"

She looked into my eyes. How does one explain death to a four-year-old? I did the best I could...

"Jennifer, God has called that little bird home. Can you see that his eyes are closed and he isn't moving? That means his spirit, or soul has gone to heaven."

Tears formed in Jennifer's eyes, "Does that mean he won't ever fly again?"

"You won't see him flying again, but God will. That little birdie will sing in God's tree and fly happily in heaven."

Jennifer thought for a few seconds, not quite understanding why the little bird didn't just fly up to heaven.

"You see, Jennifer, that bird is through with his body and doesn't need it any more, but his spirit will fly again in heaven."

Jennifer smiled through her tears, "Will he be happy there?"

"Yes, he will." "Yes, I'm sure you will, Jennifer."

"OK, grandpa, can we wrap this little birdie in something and bury him in the back yard and say a prayer for him?"

We did just that.

Jennifer is now 23 and has two lovely children of her own. When the situation arises, I hope she remembers our conversation so many years ago...God Bless the little children in the age of their innocence.