Valley Park Bird

On Saturday mornings, we go to Valley Park in Hermosa Beach. We go so Mac can go to Sportball, where he runs, kicks, throws, and laughs. He plays the “sport of the day” with about 12 to 15 other toddlers. Mostly, we parents chase after our kids as they find something more interesting and run off toward it. After 45 minutes of attempted focused fun, everyone moseys over to the playground, where there are quirky centipede jungle gyms, several steep slides, plenty of swings, and a small faux car with a steering wheel, a truck bed, and an oversized undercarriage above the playground sand where kids can crawl through. That’s where I saw the bird.

The bird was tucked into a corner under the car’s wheel. It wasn’t moving but wasn’t lying down either—likely injured. Occasionally, it looked left and right, and it couldn’t help noticing the three-year-old redheaded girl who kept poking her face through the openings. She’d excitedly laugh, yell to anyone within earshot in the way only a three-year-old can, and she seemed progressively more agitated. She must have sensed something was wrong. I didn’t see her parents nearby; it looked like she was with a nanny somewhere in the background.

Mac was catching his breath with Mary after a furious bout with the steep slide. This little boy has an engine. I never expected to slide so much at 38 with my 20-month-old, but I love it too. It brought me back on one level and opened my heart on another. When we first went down, I held Mac with one hand and my Yeti of iced coffee in the other. A young mother laughed, “That’s the most dad thing I’ve seen today.” Mac went up and down, and so did I—at least 20 times in a row.

Eventually, I went over to the little redheaded girl. Another parent said, “There’s a dead bird under there.” I replied, “Actually, it’s alive but probably hurt.” They said, “Oh, well, someone from the city is coming to get it. They should be here soon.” The little girl didn’t understand any of this, so I knelt down and started talking with her. “You don’t need to worry about the bird. He wants to be alone right now. That’s why he’s under there and not in the sky.” She said, “I want to hold,” and she motioned to her chest. I said, “I know you want to help. He would appreciate that too. But he wants to be alone right now because he doesn’t feel good. That’s why he’s under there. Someone is coming soon who knows how to help.” The girl seemed calmer and less worried as we waited.

A beach cop came over in lifeguard-style shorts and a polo, carrying a garbage bag. I told him, “Hey, it’s actually not dead—it’s injured.” He took a moment and said, “Man, I don’t know what to do with it, then.” I suggested, “You could use the bag to pick it up and put it in the bushes over there. It’ll be better off there than here.” He thought it over and said, “Yeah, that works. Thanks,” and he grabbed the bird from under the car while I distracted the girl.

She was concerned when she noticed it was gone. I told her that someone came to help and they could do a better job than we could. She looked sad and went back to her babysitter. But then she came back, gave me a smile, and left again. As I walked over to Mac, a grandmother came up to me and said, “What you did was so kind. I hope you’re there on my deathbed telling me it’s all going to be okay in that soothing voice. If you hadn’t told that beach cop what to do, he probably would have just left.” She turned to Mary and said, “You’re very lucky.” Mary replied, “It’s why I love him.”

Later, in the car, I asked Mary why she loved me for that. She answered, “Because it’s honest and real. You understand reality. It’s what I love about you. It’s your gift. It’s how you help people.”