“I can’t draw,” said Bear number sixty-three.
“Do you have a story to share?” the counselor wanted to know.
“Maybe. I’m not sure it’s a good one, though. I don’t have a picture of it.
“Don’t worry about the picture. Just tell your story.”
Number sixty-three took a deep breath and began:
Humble Happens.
When Andile the dikdik was one year old his parents had taught him all they knew. He had learned to find nourishment in the bush, had learned to shelter for the night, had learned to avoid hunters, had learned to scent-mark his territory. He was fully grown and ready to leave home.
Andile was a rather good-looking animal. A white ring surrounded his large, dark eyes; his small horns were almost hidden in a tuft of hair; his mother was especially proud of her son’s soft brownish coat and his elegant legs. He enjoyed daily outings into the forest, galloping quite a distance, looking for berries to eat and most days he came home tired and happy.
“I am the best hunter of wild berries,” he would say, but sometimes he was so proud of his accomplishments that he forgot to watch out for enemies. And there were plenty of those: hyenas, jackals, wild dogs, monitor lizards, eagles, pythons, lions, cheetahs, and men who would sell his thin legs and feet to be made into jewelry and his hide to be sewn into beautiful suede gloves.
No wonder his mother was concerned about his future when it was time for him to be on his own. “I wish he were a bit more humble,” she said to her husband, “bragging can be dangerous. Bragging tends to make you careless.”
Andile heard her last words. Being a curious young dikdik he wondered what his mother meant. When night fell he took off to visit Nokhanyo the owl. Her name meant “Mother of Enlightenment” and the question in the young dikdik’s mind could only be resolved by Nokhanyo’s wisdom.
When he reached the owl’s tree he asked into the darkness, “What is humble? Teach me about humble, please.”
“Humble isn’t. Humble happens,” said the owl. “It happens when you have hurt your best friend and he loves you anyway. It happens in the rainy season when you rescue a fellow creature. It happens when you share your berries with your mate.”
“Does humble hurt?”
“When you first feel it, it might hurt a little, but then it makes you smile. You think you are real small and real tall at the same time. I think the real small comes from being such a tiny part of the universe. The real tall is because it happened to YOU. It is an honor to feel humble.
“Will I know when humble happens to me?”
“Of course you will,” said Nokhanyo. “Your heart opens and you want to hug everybody.”
“What was your best humble?” Andile wanted to know.
“Well,” said the owl, “it happened some time ago. I was very sick; I think I was going blind, and I sat on a log feeling sorry for myself. The great father turned on the evening lights but I could barely see them flicker. A unicorn had just given birth and everybody gathered around her and the little one, just as we did when you were born. I flew over to the nest, weak and with pain in my eyes. I squinted to see the baby. Suddenly he opened his eyes. They were the color of the lagoon. A mixture of blue and green and gray. I started to cry and the tears washed away my pain. All I wanted to do was to look into the eyes of the baby unicorn. That was my deepest humble ever.”
Andile thought that this was a wonderful story and he couldn’t wait to encounter his very first humble. “Thank you,” he said to the owl and went home. The next morning he kissed his mother and father good-by and followed the scent of the rain into his new life.
The Bears sat quietly after number sixty-three had finished his story. Then, suddenly, they all talked at the same time. The counselor did not interrupt them; he understood that right then they would learn more from each other than from his lecture.
I think some day he might look back on this moment and tell a new generation of Bears that this was one of his favorite humbles.
“Do you have a story to share?” the counselor wanted to know.
“Maybe. I’m not sure it’s a good one, though. I don’t have a picture of it.
“Don’t worry about the picture. Just tell your story.”
Number sixty-three took a deep breath and began:
Humble Happens.
When Andile the dikdik was one year old his parents had taught him all they knew. He had learned to find nourishment in the bush, had learned to shelter for the night, had learned to avoid hunters, had learned to scent-mark his territory. He was fully grown and ready to leave home.
Andile was a rather good-looking animal. A white ring surrounded his large, dark eyes; his small horns were almost hidden in a tuft of hair; his mother was especially proud of her son’s soft brownish coat and his elegant legs. He enjoyed daily outings into the forest, galloping quite a distance, looking for berries to eat and most days he came home tired and happy.
“I am the best hunter of wild berries,” he would say, but sometimes he was so proud of his accomplishments that he forgot to watch out for enemies. And there were plenty of those: hyenas, jackals, wild dogs, monitor lizards, eagles, pythons, lions, cheetahs, and men who would sell his thin legs and feet to be made into jewelry and his hide to be sewn into beautiful suede gloves.
No wonder his mother was concerned about his future when it was time for him to be on his own. “I wish he were a bit more humble,” she said to her husband, “bragging can be dangerous. Bragging tends to make you careless.”
Andile heard her last words. Being a curious young dikdik he wondered what his mother meant. When night fell he took off to visit Nokhanyo the owl. Her name meant “Mother of Enlightenment” and the question in the young dikdik’s mind could only be resolved by Nokhanyo’s wisdom.
When he reached the owl’s tree he asked into the darkness, “What is humble? Teach me about humble, please.”
“Humble isn’t. Humble happens,” said the owl. “It happens when you have hurt your best friend and he loves you anyway. It happens in the rainy season when you rescue a fellow creature. It happens when you share your berries with your mate.”
“Does humble hurt?”
“When you first feel it, it might hurt a little, but then it makes you smile. You think you are real small and real tall at the same time. I think the real small comes from being such a tiny part of the universe. The real tall is because it happened to YOU. It is an honor to feel humble.
“Will I know when humble happens to me?”
“Of course you will,” said Nokhanyo. “Your heart opens and you want to hug everybody.”
“What was your best humble?” Andile wanted to know.
“Well,” said the owl, “it happened some time ago. I was very sick; I think I was going blind, and I sat on a log feeling sorry for myself. The great father turned on the evening lights but I could barely see them flicker. A unicorn had just given birth and everybody gathered around her and the little one, just as we did when you were born. I flew over to the nest, weak and with pain in my eyes. I squinted to see the baby. Suddenly he opened his eyes. They were the color of the lagoon. A mixture of blue and green and gray. I started to cry and the tears washed away my pain. All I wanted to do was to look into the eyes of the baby unicorn. That was my deepest humble ever.”
Andile thought that this was a wonderful story and he couldn’t wait to encounter his very first humble. “Thank you,” he said to the owl and went home. The next morning he kissed his mother and father good-by and followed the scent of the rain into his new life.
The Bears sat quietly after number sixty-three had finished his story. Then, suddenly, they all talked at the same time. The counselor did not interrupt them; he understood that right then they would learn more from each other than from his lecture.
I think some day he might look back on this moment and tell a new generation of Bears that this was one of his favorite humbles.
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