magic_fella
The Mystical Birdman
It was a hot summer afternoon. Sheree was teaching our grandchildren photography. She was explaining how you want to find the "picture" in everyday life.
I hear the sound of a chain rubbing against a chain guard...and the steady squeak squeak of pedals slowly being pushed.
There is a bike coming our way. It has to be three feet wide.There are posters and balloons and dozens of birds. All those decorations are attached to a frame that is hanging off the bike. A two wheel bike. Honest.
It was one of the most colorful things I have ever seen, ridden by a very old guy. He was well over six feet, only slightly stooped. He wore a cowboy hat decorated with apparently random scribbles from a red pen...and a Hard Rick Cafe sweatshirt.
"Hi," I said, no doubt already dazzling him with my glittering conversational ability.
With some small effort, he pulled the bike over to the curb.
"I'm the Birdman," he said. "Think those kids want some candy?"
Without pausing for an answer, he opened a paper bag, a well used paper bag, and fished out suckers.
They thanked him. He liked that.
"How about some balloons?" he asked, producing a handful of round dollar store balloons and passing one carefully to each grandchild. Sheree and I both have twisted tens of thousands of balloon animals at fairs etc...some of them for the little people with us that afternoon. But we are blessed with gracious grandchildren.
They each said "thank you" and took the proffered treat with respect.
"Think they want some ribbons?" he asked.
The guy was beaming.
He drew scraps of thin crepe ribbon from his pocket and held it in his open hand. The kids hesitated, but he shook his hand in an "oh...come on...you KNOW you want to" kind of gesture.
My youngest grandson (on that trip anyway) looked at me with the slightest twitch of his shoulders. I smiled and nodded.
"Have some ribbon, Caedmon," I said. "You never know when you might be walking down the street and suddenly say 'OH! If only I had some ribbon right now!"
"That's right, little fella," agreed the Birdman. He was still smiling I was smiling. Even Caedmon was smiling.
He reached forward and very gently took some scraps from the Birdman.
"...thanks," he said.
The Birdman beamed. Again. Still.
"I'm waiting for Klondike Days," he said. "Going to the parade."
I should point out that this conversation took place in May...and Klondike Days, Edmonton's largish fair, doesn't start until late July. And it isn't even called Klondike Days anymore.
Did it matter? Nope.
I smiled at him. I couldn't help it really. He had to be at least seventy. Instead of rotting away in some old folks home, here he was on a P.D.B. (Profusely Decorated Bicycle) passing out scraps of ribbon and suckers to perplexed children. I think that's cool.
I'm glad my grandchildren got a chance to meet him. That's the kind of "old" I think they should aspire to. Me too.
The Mystical Birdman
It was a hot summer afternoon. Sheree was teaching our grandchildren photography. She was explaining how you want to find the "picture" in everyday life.
I hear the sound of a chain rubbing against a chain guard...and the steady squeak squeak of pedals slowly being pushed.
There is a bike coming our way. It has to be three feet wide.There are posters and balloons and dozens of birds. All those decorations are attached to a frame that is hanging off the bike. A two wheel bike. Honest.
It was one of the most colorful things I have ever seen, ridden by a very old guy. He was well over six feet, only slightly stooped. He wore a cowboy hat decorated with apparently random scribbles from a red pen...and a Hard Rick Cafe sweatshirt.
"Hi," I said, no doubt already dazzling him with my glittering conversational ability.
With some small effort, he pulled the bike over to the curb.
"I'm the Birdman," he said. "Think those kids want some candy?"
Without pausing for an answer, he opened a paper bag, a well used paper bag, and fished out suckers.
They thanked him. He liked that.
"How about some balloons?" he asked, producing a handful of round dollar store balloons and passing one carefully to each grandchild. Sheree and I both have twisted tens of thousands of balloon animals at fairs etc...some of them for the little people with us that afternoon. But we are blessed with gracious grandchildren.
They each said "thank you" and took the proffered treat with respect.
"Think they want some ribbons?" he asked.
The guy was beaming.
He drew scraps of thin crepe ribbon from his pocket and held it in his open hand. The kids hesitated, but he shook his hand in an "oh...come on...you KNOW you want to" kind of gesture.
My youngest grandson (on that trip anyway) looked at me with the slightest twitch of his shoulders. I smiled and nodded.
"Have some ribbon, Caedmon," I said. "You never know when you might be walking down the street and suddenly say 'OH! If only I had some ribbon right now!"
"That's right, little fella," agreed the Birdman. He was still smiling I was smiling. Even Caedmon was smiling.
He reached forward and very gently took some scraps from the Birdman.
"...thanks," he said.
The Birdman beamed. Again. Still.
"I'm waiting for Klondike Days," he said. "Going to the parade."
I should point out that this conversation took place in May...and Klondike Days, Edmonton's largish fair, doesn't start until late July. And it isn't even called Klondike Days anymore.
Did it matter? Nope.
I smiled at him. I couldn't help it really. He had to be at least seventy. Instead of rotting away in some old folks home, here he was on a P.D.B. (Profusely Decorated Bicycle) passing out scraps of ribbon and suckers to perplexed children. I think that's cool.
I'm glad my grandchildren got a chance to meet him. That's the kind of "old" I think they should aspire to. Me too.