We Can’t be Birds

When you tell somebody he is “cuckoo,” you are not complimenting him! You’re just saying in a joking way that you don’t think he has a brilliant mind, that his judgment is not of the highest calibre, that he is in fact a tad bit crazy!

If you had lived three hundred years ago, and if you had used the name of the cuckoo bird in your everyday 17th century talk, it would have meant something entirely different.

Some anonymous writer of rhymes back in those times jotted down these rather intriguing thoughts on the cuckoo:

The cuckoo is a witty bird, Arriving with the spring.

When summer suns are waning, She spreadeth wide her wing.

She flies th’ approaching winter, She hates the rain and snow;

Like her I would be singing, Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo!

And off with her I’d go.

Fortunately, we were not living three hundred years ago. We’re here now! Unfortunately, we can’t be witty birds. But if you could sprout wings and become a bird, what bird would you like to be?

My husband declares that he would prefer to be a hawk, because he had rather gobble up some other creature than to have a creature of prey gobble him up!

Few people would want to be a song bird in a cage, such as a canary. Of course all a canary has to do is sit on his perch and sing. Somebody brings him food, brings him water, and changes the paper under his roost. He just sings and eats, eats and sings, and uses that paper. A simple life. No worries. No work. But no freedom!

I’d rather be a bald eagle -- soaring above the craggy peaks, building my nest high on the mountains, and teaching my fledglings how to fly from dizzying heights! On second thought, I might not like being a baldheaded eagle. I can’t even climb up on a stepladder without being afraid!

On a clear autumn day, when there is the faint “honk, honk” of Canadian geese overhead, and I look up and see a flock in “V” formation, headed toward Florida and farther south, I think I’d like to be a wild goose. Still, a goose does not have too much sense. A goose is reputed to be about as clever as a turkey. And a turkey doesn’t even know how to come in out of the rain.

On a bright spring day, when the robins come and say in so many words that winter is over and spring is indeed come, I think I’d like to be a robin. Yet, a robin has to scratch and work and struggle to pull worms out of the ground. I’ve seen a big, robust, red-breasted fellow brace his feet against the ground and tug at one tenacious worm for five minutes. And then, he had no salt and pepper to sprinkle on his squirming, wiggling breakfast!

On a pleasant summer day, when the mocking birds are singing in the trees -- so sweetly, so pleasingly -- I think I’d like to be a mocking bird. They can warble away, day or night. However, ‘tis said that mocking birds don’t have any originality, that the reason they’re called “mocking” is that they have, and use, an uncanny ability to imitate exactly the notes of other birds. That borders on plagiarism. Besides, I do admire anybody who has originality, a creative mind, and all that! Oh well, we can’t become birds. Even if we could, we’d never decide on the best type, for they all have faults or limitations. We can’t be anything except what we are. And we all have faults and limitations. So, the only solution is to just be the best that you can be -- as yourself.

Published October 1980. Click your browser’s ‘Back’ key to return.