MORE MISSIVES FROM KATIE AND ZOONG: FATHERS ARE LIKE BIRDS’ FEATHERS
Believing in magic, we’d hide these found treasures between the pages of our text books, sprinkling bread crumbs over them to feed them. If we loved them enough, we used to believe, the feathers would sprout fluff at the bottoms of their shafts and eventually (very very eventually) grow into the birds themselves.
I suspect the fluff that appeared was probably mould. And of course, the feathers always fell out of the books and disappeared before they had time to turn into swans or peacocks or even crows.
Anyway – this is a poem in Zoong’s voice about that childish practice:
Fathers are like birds’ feathers
Father’s are like birds’ feathers You got to stroke them right
Father’s are like birds’ feathers Never ruffle them wrong
I have two feathers One from a peacock The other a crow
They’re both black and shiny Like my father’s hair Like my father wrestling with his troubles They bend smooth and bounce back strong
I talk to my birds’ feathers every day I pet them every night If you love your birds’ feathers They’ll love you back the very same way
Father’s are a lot like birds feathers Somehow …
Did you believe in magic when you were little? Tell us about one magical belief you acted on that seems oh so foolish now …