The Birds, The Bees, and The Hummingbirds

Yesterday my high school buddy and avid blog fan, Ethan, and I moved him into his new apartment in Northern Virginia. Our two strong young bodies lunged a 70s sofa set, five bookshelves, a dresser, mattress and box-spring, and three book and clothes-filled tubs (among other things) up and into his third-floor place. Mission accomplished. If anyone of us were to trace back our many trials and adventures, we could count this move among the easiest, and probably, most enjoyable sweat-and-exhaustion inducing encounters.

Earlier in the day we were preparing for the move in his family's suburban home. We had nearly finished packing the one-bedroom U-Haul in the early morning sun. In the doorway Ethan commented about explaining gender to a young person (a population with whom he works). I sat across from him at the bottom of the stairs, interupting, while spreading my hands across my knees, "You see, there are the birds, the bees....and the wasps." We both chuckled. Once our laughter subsided, Ethan offered a better analogy: "There are the birds, the bees, and the hummingbirds."

Hummingbirds I thought. Yes, hummingbirds. Adults often neglect to reveal to young people that hummingbirds exist, much less suggesting that you--their little babies--could be one, while at the same time secretly waging that if they do not tell you about hummingbirds that you will never leave the nest or hive. The saddest part is that young people--in fact all people--experience hummingbirdness even if not becoming them. Then, when we do, we feel even deeper shame and confusion for not having beaks or wanting honey. But the truth is that hummingbirds possess their own beauty and sweetness.

On Thursday afternoon I was jetting on-foot from my office to the National Press Building. Along the way I saw one of those haunting encounters that humbles, frightens, and angers simultaneously. An older black man was crossing a side-street with a gold can in one hand and paperbag in another. A middle-aged white uniformed man spotted the gentleman like prey. He yelled in his direction, "Hey! Hey!" He summoned him by extending and curling his finger as if commanding a dog to stay. The other man was nervous, slightly agitated, and reluctant, pretending not to fully understand why he was being approached. The uniformed man explained to the effect that he was not able to drink alcohol in public and directed him to throw his can into the nearby trashcan. The other man did as he was told, slipped the beer into the trashcan, and returned to walking, only to have his fear come true. The uniformed man summoned his back.

Within a moment, witnessed in slow motion, I saw him make a decision. He ran.

Before getting less than 50 feet, the uniformed man caught his shoulder, dragged him onto the ground, shrattled and handcuffed him. Not more than a minute later a police car arrived. Finally, a biking (black) police officer--rendered helpless--stood by as the now angry handcuffed man explained that he did nothing wrong.

He was right--he did nothing wrong. I'm certain that several people passed the officer who were embezzling money, cheating on their spouses, undermining co-workers, or cheating on their taxes. This man was keeping to himself not harming a soul.

There I stood unable to do anything for him but to watch the inevitable. A clean-cut white man sat a cafe table outside near the incident. He put his newspaper down to enlighten a concerned bystander by announcing, "all he had to do was to throw it away." A more compassionate person asked me what happened. After explaining she simply said, "Poor guy, he's probably from the park. He shouldn't have run." Neither of them understood, and I only did so after finally walking away from the incident. As the police car shrank smaller and smaller in the distance I realized that this man never made a decision to answer the officer or to run. No, because once he was seen, he was not a free man.

Friday evening I was at the Vienna Metro station waiting to be picked up by my father who was eager to see me for the short while I was in town. I obliged especially because I had not seen him in several weeks. While professional people crowded one bus shelter, I escaped to the next one over to read my book. A middle-aged, tan man with long black hair stood next to me. He apologetically said, "I'm American Indian, and I apologize for being in your Land."

I was speechless as I set my book down. In a clunky string of sentences I explained that no apology was needed because this was not Our land.

Our conversation gradually unfolded, and although we spoke for over ten minutes, I learned very little about him even as I mostly listened. He was "a Sioux"; he did not wish to be in our land; he was fighting for his people but he could not be the only one; he did not have very much money; and he was looking for the 12C bus.

I felt a vibration in my pocket which meant my father was calling because he had arrived. I asked for his name and extended my hand for a handshake before I departed. He put his hand to his temple and pulled his arm down in a proper military salute followed by a firm handshake. I never learned his given name, nonetheless, I knew who he was, which was my three-day lesson about hummingbirds. They do exist.

Sometimes, we just want someone in this world to know what we have seen or hear what we have to say. Somedays, we just need witnesses to validate us in this world of ours.

To our hummingbirdness.

Addendum (Ethan's Comment):
::sigh:: So, I feel that this is definitely an "Ethan" moment as I admit the following: when you were explaining the birds and the bees to Thomas... and you paused, and suggested 'and wasps', I thought. Well, Richael's a bird... she probably wouldn't be going after a bee... so I imagined a hummingbird as more conducive to your avion sexuality. And as a wasp more my thing. :D

Granted, I could have suggested the birds and the pteradactyls... but I think said you liked girls with flowers on their dresses. So hummingbird was more suiting.All in all, I had no idea what you were considering when I said this until I read you blog. And I see hummingbirds a little differently. Like your situations, hummingbirds are beautiful in the moment because they are true and honest, but the moment is usually gone before any of us can realize what we would miss. Casual observers often miss hummingbirds, mistaking them from big bees, just like they assume another homeless black man is instigating the police instead of simply being a victim of his circumstances. Or that the second gentleman was 'just another drunk Indian' instead of the product of generations of genocide, rape, alcoholism, and all the other 'civilization' Europeans brought the native Americans...