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When I was in eighth grade, my sweet English teacher, the ethereal Mrs. Van Pelt, handed me a book I would cherish for the rest of my life. "To Kill A Mockingbird?" I read."Why, my grandma says that's a sin! All they do is sing and eat skeeters. They're not mean, like grackles and jays. " That was the first time I'd ever quoted a book without reading it first. I loved that book. I loved the movie even more. I wanted Atticus Finch to be my dad. (My own dad was very cool, but he wasn't Atticus by a long road, and I was in eighth grade, mind you.) I still love mockingbirds. I adore the neat gray tuxedos they sport with such flair. I love their fearless, bright-eyed stare. I applaud the bravery with which they defend their young from marauders. Most of all, I love their songs. I've often marveled at the mimicry of mockingbirds. I've heard them imitate other birds, lawnmowers, fax machines, you name it. My dad swears that I taught some mockingbirds to sing "Fuer Elise" during one mild spring when I practiced piano for hours on end with the windows open. I've seen mama mockers on my porch with their newly fledged, adolescent offspring, teaching them songs as they pecked at apples and raisins I'd left for them. I've often wondered if they know songs their ancestors learned, and how old some of their songs must be. Maybe I'm hearing a voice from the distant past when I hear a mocker sing, like an old, scratchy recording of the primordial bird. Maybe I'm hearing the same mocker-song that Pocahontas heard when she ran wild on the banks of the James. Maybe this is the same song heard by Jefferson Davis as he languished in Fort Monroe. Anyway, I hope they have mockingbirds in the afterlife, because I think Gregory Peck would hear them and smile. If you'll all excuse me, I have to go put raisins out on the porch rail, and dust off my VCR so I can watch an old favorite. I do love to see Miss Scout in her ham costume! |
 
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God Bless Gregory Peck