The Last Macaw

Some think that to be both lively and retired is an oxymoron, yet three ladies in their late sixties, sitting on a bench in Central Park during a pre-COVID-19 afternoon, all three energetic and pensioned, were discussing the nice weather they were having in October, a couple of weeks before Halloween, when usually it rained and the falling leaves snatched the seasonal show. The trees still stole the spectacle with their tears, but only lovers could be suffused in such solicitude, and perhaps those wondering about climate change, which is more like weather shock.

Following the customary niceties afforded to such creatures of yesteryear, they began talking about the important stuff. What is important in life? Family, many say and often imply. We can only hope. Happiness, some say, though it is fleeting like a rose trying to survive in a vase. Health can be rarely disputed by anyone. Anything else? Wealth is too rare and most of those who have it are not quite well. Family, then, since it was, after all, what they really wanted to talk about.

“My son,” said the first lady, looking intently into the other two’s eyes, “finished medical school at the top of his class, and only a few years later and he is already the chief surgeon at Mount Sinai Hospital. I am so lucky to have a doctor for a son,” she concluded with a content smile, even a grin.

“My son,” said the second lady, looking as intently into the other two’s eyes, “accepted a position in one of the best law firms in the country, perhaps the entire world, before finishing his degree, and today, only a few years later, he is already a valued partner. I am so lucky to have a lawyer for a son,” she concluded with a similar content smile, even a grin, one could surmise.

The third lady did not say anything. The other two looked at her, beginning to feel pity for her, assuming that her son did not amount to anything worth extolling. Yet, the third lady was smiling with even more contentment than the other two had shown, even a sure grin. “What are you smiling about?” they asked in unison.

“Oh, I was thinking about my son.”

“Pray tell! What has he been up to?” they asked, all eyes.

“Oh, not much. Except for his, how should I put it, appendage.”

“His organ?” the other two replied both alarmed and disarmed.

“Apparently. I have not seen it, of course. But I have heard enough from everyone to believe it is true.”

“Continue!” the other two encouraged.

“Well, if four macaws, or is it five, stand on his appendage, they barely touch each other.”

“What?” whooped the other two.

“I know. It is unbelievable, especially that most macaw species have become endangered in the wild, with several being critically endangered, and several already extinct due to the rapid rate of deforestation, hunting, and illegal trapping for the pet trade."

"What?" almost shouted the other two.

"I do not know where he got it from. I guess that the old adage also works for appendages. Two shorts can yield one tall.”

They all laughed, continuing the small talk, their minds perhaps dirtier than a politician.

The first lady was the first to come to her senses after less than an hour. “I exaggerated about my son,” she said, lowering her head. “He is just a run-of-the-mill physician. A doctor, nonetheless.”

The second lady spoke next. “I also overstated my son. He is an ambulance-chasing lawyer. But he has a bad back and cannot run a lot," she concluded with her head looking up.

The third lady did not say anything. The other two looked at her, beginning to feel ashamed of themselves, assuming that her son was a king of some kind. The third lady was looking at her nails, wondering if they looked as great as when she had painted them scarlet like the macaws. Suddenly, she said: “You know, the fourth macaw, or is it the fifth, has to stand on one leg.”