Solitude Flight

I started to sweat with tears accumulated in my eyes that were going to let off very soon. My shaking knees that leaning on my weakening feet. I am in the middle of the class, standing and trying to get all the strength that I could get. I was facing my teacher and could hardly understand what she was saying. My heart was pounding not because I was afraid of her but the whispers that I heard from my classmates. Whispers that slowly destroy my inner peace. I could not tell if it was bullying, or they just felt bad for me. The words on the board slowly faded as my tears covered my whole eyes. I was speechless or I would rather say I was suffering inside.

I am dyslexic and could not read properly. The usual eighth-graders could read fiercely but not me. My school days were just the same as lonely as I was inside of me. I loved school but my disability was pushing me off or was fate not so fair to me? Sometimes I sat alone on my favorite rock beside that lonely lake. I deserted myself from everything and just ate my Suzy Q that I bought from the red store which was owned by the redhead's family. The store was painted red, and it was called a red store because the whole family had red hair.

I was always riding my bicycle, the banana seat 1970 made. The vehicle I used going to school. Every morning I passed by Mr. Harrington’s house and greeted him hello while he was always doing his yard work. He had a beautiful big yard; an old-timer neighbor and I was close to him. I worked on weekends for him to earn a couple of dollars. I cleaned his yard, piled up those old branches, and painted some of his old yard fences. In addition, he was my barber who put a soup bowl on my head and cut my hair around, which my mom hated so much!

“Frank 9:00 on Saturday!” Mr. Harrington shouted

“Yes, Mr. Harrington!” I replied while I was passing by his yard.

I parked my bicycle at the nearby tree and saw the 11th graders and some other seniors. I am tall at my age and quite built but I always walked with my head bowed down. I was always uncomfortable with my learning disability. I wished someone would help me to learn everything and understand me better. My life was in constant blues. Sometimes I went home before school time ends.

“Frank, science laboratory today.” one classmate told me.

“Thanks” I whispered.

I was walking to the laboratory and sat on the chair where I always felt safe. Our science teacher was not around yet. I saw most of my classmates were busy looking at those chemicals on the shelves. I was amazed by the microscope. I love science and was fascinated by every experiment we did. A group of my classmates was busy operating some science lab equipment.

“Frank come over here!” Chris called. One of the science group leaders.

I did not say anything and just walked towards them.

“Frank, you see this. Chris asked plainly.

“Yes, a purple liquid,” I replied bluntly.

Come on man! Do you want to help us? Give me a hand and pour that into the tube. Chris instructed.

I followed Chris' instructions and poured it into the tube. It was bubbling and gas came out from the tube. The whole classroom smelled and turned foggy, and I could not see anyone. I heard Mr. Carter’s voice and he pushed the fire alarm. The whole school had to evacuate. My heart was like pulling out from my chest. I was very scared.

The next morning, I was called to the principal’s office and my mom was sitting on the guest seat. I remembered the words that came out from the principal’s mouth “from now on you are not going to have science class.” I could not believe it, but I am the blame for it. I remember my mom and I were walking back home, and she was very silent. I was incredibly sad that I embarrassed her. Both of us were silent, and the only sounds I heard were our footsteps and the flimsy dried leaves cracking every time we stepped on it.

It was the beginning of spring. I was holding a baseball bat and I heard Mr. Clarkton. I turned around and saw my teacher Mrs. Kent. I had a bad feeling, and I knew something was wrong. I felt my feet losing their strength. I was sweating and nervous waiting for what news they would tell me about. I was standing in front of them when they told me “Frank, you cannot join the baseball tournament because your grade did not pass.” Mrs. Kent uttered.

I ran fast as I could, and tears kept falling down my cheeks. I could hardly see the dirt road going to Elmwood Street. Baseball was my everything. It was my sport and my friend. The most beautiful thing I had in school and could remember.

I went to Mr. Harrington’s backwoods that evening. I sat on that big rock, the size of a car, across the big tree. A barn owl just came out from the tree hole. He was alone and stood on the branch of that big tree. He was like watching the moon. His eyes were fierce and bright.

Do owls pray to God? I whispered.

Someone tapped my shoulder, and it was Mr. Harrington. He sat beside me and was very silent. We both watched the barn owl for a long time, watching the moon. The silver gleamed came from the moonlight strike on the barn owl’s white feathers. The owl’s feathers looked beautiful and dazzling. The barn owl moved his wings and started his silent flight.

“Silent but sharp, alone but brave” Mr. Harrington murmured into the air.

I stared at the moon with my teary eyes. I felt the moonlight pulling out my soul and floated into the wind as the barn owl flew in silent. It was a lonely night full of loads in my heart. The tears in my eyes blew by the cool wind that surfaced into my face. I heard Mr. Harrington’s deep breath.

“Son, courage is not taught. It is in you! Courage is not visible on happy moments but courage surfaces on weak moments.” Mr. Harrington said plainly.

I looked at Mr. Harrington and asked, “why I am not the same with other kids in school?”

Why are barn owls different from other birds? Mr. Harrington asked me back.

I was surprised by Mr. Harrington’s question. I tried to give him the best answer a boy could, and I said, “because everyone is unique!” Mr. Harrington looked at me and said “Yes, everyone has a different walk of life, and every person is created differently to find the purpose in life.”

I stood up from where I sat and slowly walked back home.

Son, remember barn owl fly and hunt alone! Mr. Harrington shouted.

“I wish I can be the barn owl, Mr. Harrington!”

I graduated in senior high with very insufficient self-trust. I was walking on the dirt road in the middle of Sussex County. The protracted line of the tall northern red oak trees that leaves were swaying together with the breeze of fall. I was going to the next bus stop going to the main city of Vernon. I was walking away from Elmwood Street with my little bag pack hanging on my back. The day I buried my childhood dream that died within.

I took a mechanic job in downtown New York. The job paid well, and I started to enjoy it. I learned many things about diesel. I learned the value of every cent is equal to every drop of my sweat. One day I was walking on 48th street when I saw a table and two recruiters giving flyers to every man passing by. I took the flyer, folded it, and put it in my pocket.

One Saturday morning on my day off I remembered the flyer. I found the U.S. Air Force print and logo on top of the paper. I saw the contact number and found myself dialing the number that was printed. Things went fast and I took the exam without high hopes of passing it but to prove that I have courage in me. I continued to work in the mechanic shop. I started to save some money and took some educational seminars. Months passed by and the same thing was on my shoulder.

I remember it was a red and a lousy afternoon going to my apartment and checking my mailbox. I found a letter from the U.S. Air Force. I opened the mail and I read the word “Congratulations.” I passed the exam. And no words I can latch onto to describe how I felt. For the first time in my life, I felt valued and capable. I have not mentioned it much to my family. All they knew was, I will be serving the country. It was a part of my fear that things might not go well.

It was harder than I thought. I learned many things but most of it is to be brave, fly with my mission and search for my purpose in life. I went through many extensive training and missions that caused me tears, not for the dead duck but a triumph. I moved up and was promoted to Command Chief Master Sergeant. I truly see the perseverance I built through the years and years. I looked at myself in the mirror. The boy at Elmwood Street turned into a brave solitary owl. I was sharpened by the whirlwind of loneliness and turmoil of challenges. I always remember the old-timer guy Mr. Harrington and that meaningful night he shared with me.

I was on my R and R and received a phone call that Mr. Harrington was dying. My heart sank and like a big piece of me will go away. I hurriedly went to his house. I saw him with that old and beautiful wrinkle that wrapped up on his whole being. I used to see him strong like a balsa tree. I found myself the same that night, I looked at the moon like my soul was floating but by this time it was a melancholy love. I never thought how Mr. Harrington became a part of my conviction. I sat down on that old captain’s mate-style wooden chair beside his bed. I held his hands and cannot halt that warm water flowing from my eyes or I would rather say from my “soul.”

“Son, Frankie you become the brave barn owl you want to be” he whispered.

The muscles in my throat hindered me from speaking or I just wanted to hide those words I wanted to say. I thought the pain was always evitable but by this time I was wrong.

He continued. “Barn owls are quiet, solitary, and they are different from other birds”

I looked outside extremely far from the window across from my seat. My sight went far, but it wanted to go nowhere. I always brought with me, those emboldened words he said, “Courage is not taught, it is in you!” I finally convened the courage to look at him. I whispered, “Yes I am different from others like the barn owl, and thank you for letting me know.” Mr. Harrington smiled peacefully and held my hands like there would be no other morning to come.

Mr. Harrington died, and I bought his land to preserve the barn owls living in his trees. I built a Dyslexia Center that served the Elmwood Street neighborhood and the whole community of Sussex County. I became an ambassador for Learning Disability Specialize in Dyslexia Community.

I was invited as a guest speaker for an inspirational talk for the senior high school graduation. I saw my former teachers, some were still serving, and some are retired.

I once spoke to the crowd, “our difference from others is a part of our conviction. The conviction of solitude. The solitude flight in each humankind, finding the purpose in life.”

I looked at the clear blue skies and whispered, “thank you, Mr. Harrington.”