My Mocking Bird I’ve been thinking a lot about my mocking bird lately. Well, he really isn’t *my* mocking bird--I don’t have him caged up in my house or anything--but, he’s mine nonetheless. You see, every year he shows up in the spring, hangs around my Norway spruce tree all season long and then in the fall he leaves to lie around some Florida beach all winter. And in the spring, he returns again. Over the years the two of us have reached a comfortable agreement. I don’t charge him rent for his nest in the tree and, in return, he has agreed to serenade me all season long. And he certainly has held up his part of the bargain. When our spring weather suits him just right, he appears, clears his throat and starts in to sing. Oh what a joy to hear his first concert! He goes through his entire repertoire, starting first with the song of a robin because he knows I never tire hearing the sound of the beginning of spring. He then follows it with a variety of other songs--catbird, redwing blackbird, chipping sparrow, blue jay, grackle and whatever else he has a mind to sing. All of his songs are impeccably sung. He’s quite a professional, you know. All season long, I know he’s around because, as good an imitator as he is, I can always tell his song from the songs of the birds he is imitating. How? Because he’s got a big mouth! He sings louder than any robin I’ve ever heard and even when he sings the sweet melodies of a tiny goldfinch, he just bellows it out. Oh, he loves to sing. But why does he do that? Why is he always play-acting? Why doesn’t he just sing like a mocking bird and not some other bird? In fact, when it comes mating time, how in the world does he attract a mocking bird mate and not just some sleazy robin or blue jay out for a good time? Well, I don’t know how he does it, but he always manages and soon there are little mocking birds already practicing their scales to be as good as Daddy. But you know, even though he says he’s singing his concerts *just* for my pleasure, every once in awhile I get the sense that he’s pretending that he’s auditioning for the Metropolitan Opera. Other times, I feel he’s hoping to get on Dave Letterman’s show as Rich Little’s successor. And even other times I sense he’s pretending he’s been handed a mike in a Karaoke bar and would rather sing a Frank Sinatra song like “I Did it My Way!” Now, regarding his singing opera, I never heard him sing in Italian. Hmmm, I wonder if Italian mocking birds sing in Italian. And do Swiss mocking birds yodel? Heaven help me if he were a Scottish mocking bird--I enjoy bagpipes but they can get on my nerves pretty quickly. And if he were to be Rich Little’s successor, would I be forced to listen to his James Cagney impression of, “You dirty rat!” And thank goodness I’ve never heard him sing “Achy Breaky Heart!” But I wouldn’t put it past him. And so the season comes and goes. He arrives and keeps me entertained, he finds a mate and raises a family, he hangs around until the fall and leaves only to return again in the spring. He loves to sing and he loves life. Why does he live like a play-acting mocking bird? Well, maybe all along he’s been singing the answer--“I did it my way!” Hey, you can’t argue with logic like that! Vee L. Housman