Grey's Journal:
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A sixty-nine year old man beat me up on Wednesday. And his owl threatened me. I was in Hyde Park, preparing myself for another exciting day of reading, writing, and unintentional napping. While looking for a spot to sit, I passed an old man with a beautiful barn owl perched on one of his gloved hands. There was a small group of children around him, and he was explaining in a gentle, almost inaudible voice about his owl. The owl was tame enough that the children could pet its soft white down. I have a fond memory of my father taking me to a bird sanctuary when I was young. There I saw a tiny, stuffed screech owl. I was fascinated. I walked up to within a few inches of the bird to get a good look at it. The stuffed owl then opened its eyes and looked at me. I let out quite a surprised scream and jumped back several feet. I've had an affection for owls ever since. One of the children around the old man tried to touch the claws of the barn owl. "Don't do that." Whispered the old man, "His claws are dangerous. If he gets scared, he might go for your eyes... and I'd be too slow to stop 'im." The child took a step back. Eventually the crowd dispersed, but I stuck around to get a closer look. I started talking to the old man. It turned out he volunteered at the local raptor center. I made a donation and petted the owl. The man then headed off to find a new spot. I unpacked my belongings and began to settle in for a nice, calm day. "Your boys are in trouble aren't they?" I looked up; the old man had returned. "Huh?" I had a good idea what he meant, but I decided to play dumb. "In Iraq. They're in trouble." No one had bothered me so far about the war, so I was interested to see how this conversation would turn out. For the record, I was strongly opposed to the war. "I guess they are." "They don't know the Arab mind." He put an odd twist on the last three words that made me uncomfortable. "Well who can?" I said lightheartedly. Turns out he could. This sixty-nine year old guy with an owl on his arm was ex-military. I would tell you all the frightening details, but, between his soft voice and his accent, it was difficult to understand all that he said. Something about working in the Gulf for years... something else about Arab friends who whispered the words World Trade Towers long ago. And a lot about the inferiority of US troops. Now I was worried he might be crazy or he might talk to me all day about the war. "Shake my hand." I assumed he meant the hand without the large owl perched on it. Not wanting to be rude, I complied. Before I knew what happened, I was kneeling on the ground with my right arm awkwardly sticking up behind me and my thumb was in a lot of pain. He had put me in a lock so quickly I didn't even realize I had moved until I was on the ground. "The army trained me well. I'm a 4th Dan in Ju-Jitsu." He said in his calm, old-man voice. "I see..." I said to the pavement near my face. Surprisingly I was not concerned with the old man at that moment. I was very concerned about that owl. I could feel some part of the man pressed against my back and I was hoping it wasn't his owl holding hand. Those talons so close to my spinal chord brought ideas of paralysis to my mind. Fortunately, he let me up. "That was nothing. Now I want you to punch me." "I'd really rather not." "Come on now, punch me. I won't hurt you." Once again, the owl was what worried me. It stared into my soul and conveyed a message: `If you attack my master, I will claw your eyes out.' This was one of those moments in life that's just too bizarre for words. I can only imagine what passersby thought when they saw a young man punch an old man thrice his age holding an owl. Then I can only guess at the surprise when the old man flipped the young guy on his back with one hand. "Your boys better watch out in Iraq." He told me, and then went on his way. Leave a comment, send an email or join my
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Copyright © 2003 Wellington Grey  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License. |
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