Grampa’s Sparrow by Barbara DeLeon

One weekend when as small children Judy and I were visiting Grampa and Granma, Theodore and Eva Domowitz, at their apartment on Strauss Street in Brooklyn, I can remember walking into their kitchen, which still had an icebox. I can still see the iceman entering the house carrying a huge block of ice on his shoulder for my Granma's fridge, and using big tongs to heave it into place in the box. That day, as it often was, Granma was making chicken soup, and as usual Grampa would sit down to eat it and he would pour ketchup into the soup. Granma was used to it, but I was horrified because it made the soup red. Yuk.

After our supper, the table was cleared, and off Grampa went to the cellar. He brought up an old birdcage and set it down on the metal kitchen table, and off he went again.

When he came back he was carrying in his two hands a small sparrow with some cloth wrapped around its bottom half. I saw him gently unwrap the bird, who seemed very calm in his hands, and turn it slightly to look at it's little leg. He then held the sparrow 's leg near the light bulb that was screwed into the kitchen wall, and patiently held it there for several minutes. What are you doing to the bird, Grampa, we wanted to know! Babala, he answered, I am helping to heal its leg. He broke his leg and needs to heal and I'm helping him. And so, he held the bird there and after its "treatment" wrapped it back up in the cloth and put it into the cage, and whisked it away again. To the "bird hospital" I guess.

The next time we visited we didn't see the bird, and eventually we asked where it was, and my Grampa proudly told us that the leg was healed and he had released him back to his family. The entire household said they saw it happen, and how joyful I felt and how proud of my Grampa Theodore.