My maternal Grandmother was a quiet lady. She was always smiling. She loved to cook, sew, and garden. People always said they could tell she was a kind, gentle lady of great character. My Dad once told me that everyone knows she's kind and gentle by the way she acts in public but it's the way she acts in private that gives her great character. This always confused me when I was young. How could people know she was a lady of great character if they were never around to see it.
My Grandmother was the sort of person who could grow sticks into thriving plants and nurse wounded animals back to health. One crowded summers day, there was an awful noise in front of the house. A car tried to swerve to avoid hitting these kittens crossing the street. It hit one anyway and also took out a bird on it's windshield. My little sisters were bawling. No one else really took much notice. It was just a little grey cat and a little blue bird. When my Grandmother returned from her daily walk, the street had cleared out. My sisters were still upset. When she asked why they were unhappy, they explained everything.
My Grandmother, much to the dismay of the other adults in my family, searched the sides of the road and the gutters and retrieved the two broken animals. The little blue bird was already gone; but, she did nurse the little part Russian grey kitten back to health. Everyone was so pre-occupied with the kitten that would live they assumed she discarded the little bird. She didn't. I saw her tuck it away. Later I quietly watched her give it a proper burial and say a prayer when she was finished. She didn't know I was there. I understood what my Dad meant by having great character. They're the actions you do when no one is around, no one is observing, and give you no merit. It's what makes you a good person.
No one will ever know about the little blue bird. Yet everyone knows my Grandmother is a kind, gentle lady of great character.
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