It was an ordinary day. Reading a column in my daily newspaper called "I Know A Story." Today's story was titled "She learned about love from father and tiny bird." Story began with...Dear friends and family. What is love? And how can one count the ways? Here is a true story that will make you think and perhaps give us answers. I had just turned 17 when I arrived in the United States. I was attending my senior year and returning home on the school bus. As I approached my house, I noticed on the steps leading to the enclosed porch a very small bird, maybe a sparrow, struggling to stand up as its wings fluttered frantically. This immediately caught my attention. Carefully I picked it up, held him in my hand, caressed him. He was scared, trying to get away from me, but he was unable to stand or fly. He was just too small and probably fell from his nest from a nearby tree. As I was consoling the little thing, my father arrived from his work. He saw me and quickly came to inspect the event. Very gently, he took the little sparrow, caressed his head, and immediately called him "Bello." As soon as he checked Bello, he told me that one of his legs was broken and he was still to young to fly. "I will fix his leg," he said. In the kitchen, my father took a wooden toothpick, cut it to a small size and gently, carefully, applied it on the broken leg of the bird wrapping it with a soft thread to keep it steady. Next, he got some wet bread crumbs, put them on the edge of his lips and guided the bird to feed himself from his mouth, as the bird's mother would have done. This process went on over and over that day and every day. Bello would stay in a man made nest in the enclosed porch, a little water near him, and was visited and loved by everyone. Every day my father would talk to him, call him Bello, perch him on his index finger, place him on his shoulder and walk with him, as little by little, Bello was getting stronger. I felt jealous of this affection. After all I was the one who found the little creature! But, my father and Bello formed a personal, close relationship. They were anxious to see each other and perform those little rituals that united them in this affectionate relationship. Sometime Bello came into the house, perching on a table lamp or other, waiting, just waiting. Finally, the day came that Bello's leg healed. The wings were grown full and strong. It was time to let go. So, one day, my father put him on his index finger, went outside the house and said to him in Italian: 'Va bene Bello. E'ora che tu torni alla tua Natura. Stai bene, puoi tornare a casa." (You are OK, Bello to return to nature, to go home). He caressed him, kissed him on his head and with a quick shift of his arm he said, "Go." Bello did not move -- one, two, three times. he kept kissing my father's cheek. Then, on the next push, he flew to a close-by branch, but he immediately returned to my father's shoulder. It took several times before Bello got the message. It was very moving for me watching this departing exchange. After this, day after day, for many other weeks, Bello waited for my father returning from work, and always would fly to his shoulder to greet him with a peck kiss to his cheek. Later in life, I heard that if you love somebody, let him go. If that love belongs to you, it will return to you. At 17, I did not know this, but, in my old age, I know now one thing, that in my life I must have loved much, because I feel love all over me. I remember at the age of 10, I was confirmed to receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I asked Jesus, if He wanted to give me a gift, let it be love. On the day that I met Bello, Jesus answered my prayer. Gratefully, Nella.
The author of this story, Nella Seward, lives in East Lampeter Township, Lancaster County, and is president of the Lancaster Italian Cultural Society. She came to America more than 60 years ago. Her story was a very touching story that I felt you may care to read and enjoy. It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.
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