The Baby Robins

When my mom was young, she was down in the garden with her friend picking raspberries. There was a robin nest in the garden and my Grandpa Steve told her to not touch the baby robins. But her friend said, “How about we just touch them real gentle?” My mom said, “No, let’s not. My dad said not to.” Her friend kept saying, “We can probably touch them just really gentle.” At last my mom gave in. She didn’t want to touch them, but she held a bowl out so her friend could put the baby robins in. The baby robins looked very ugly without their feathers, but they gently petted them and put them back afterwards.

A few days later my Grandpa called my mom, “Kendra, come here. I have something to talk to you about.” He said, “Did you touch the baby robins?” She said, “yeah.” Then Grandpa said, “They are dead now. The mama didn’t feed them because they smelled like people.” My mom started crying. She learned that she must obey her dad even if she didn’t understand why.

—By Judah, age 6