Me being the person I am, I instantly took notice of the tiny (and fluffy) baby ducks sweetly following their momma. They were making the cutest little squeaking noises and waddling around on their young unstable legs. Of course the mom didn't want them any where near me though, so they very quickly took the plunge into the cold water, and then they were gone down stream. Leaving me wishing I had a baby duck to call my very own, and perhaps name it squishy.
As these sweet little ducklings floated further down stream I decided it was probably time to turn around and greet the mob of adult ducks that had very quickly gathered around me. I instantly noticed two ducks in particular though... They were shying away from the mob seemingly uncertain of what to do, obviously wanting bread like the others, but not brave enough to take a step forward into the ever growing group of ducks. It very quickly became very obvious why...
One of the ducks was a beautiful pure white, with a bright orange beak, and bright orange feet... Only this duck wasn't normal. It was missing its eyes, and it was covered in old scars, and new wounds alike. He had so many bald spots which I am almost sure were way past the point of growing any of his gorgeous white feathers back... And he was standing very timidly behind a very strong and sleek black duck, with amazing blue feathers accenting his wings. This black duck wasn't completely perfect either, while he was not nearly as beat up as his friend was, he too had bald spots, and spots crusted in blood. But unlike his friend he held his head high, and he made certain that he was always in contact with the poor white duck behind him, always touching and always protectively in front.
While I could pretty easily guess what the problem was with these two ducks, it became painfully obvious very quickly. As soon as the growing crowd of ducks noticed I was giving attention to these two lonely ducks, they swarmed. Viciously and mercilessly pecking at this poor white duck who was completely and utterly terrified. They were pecking at his already open wounds and at the places where his eyes had been, the eyes that these other ducks had so brutally taken from him however long ago.
As I was helplessly trying to intervene I watched as something amazing happened... The beautiful black duck stood between the angry mob and the blind duck, and he fought back. While he still could not completely protect his friend from every blow, he still did absolutely everything he could to stop what was happening. He took blows to his magnificent wings, and his sleek feathers that covered his body. He flapped his wings viciously, and he bit and pecked back... All the while the white duck was clinging to him like a life line. And I watched as all of the other ducks backed away and gave up the fight.
My eyes began to brim with tears over the helplessness and sadness I felt looking at this once perfect white duck, who had the unfortunate luck of becoming the one that everyone tormented... All except one. His one magnificent friend, who was now nudging him reassuringly, and allowing him to cling to his side. His one friend who had chosen to go against the crowd and courageously stand up against something he knew was wrong and wasn't willing to partake in. His one friend who chose to put himself in harms way, in order to fight for someone else who he knew couldn't do it alone.
This black duck may not have been able to stop the others from taking his friends eyes, or inflicting wounds that would probably never completely heal... But he gave him hope. While this white duck lived in complete darkness and fear, the black duck taught him to keep his beak up against his wing so he always knew where he was walking, he made sure his friend got pieces of bread that he otherwise would not of got. He made clucking noises at his blinded friend in order to let him know different things, and he helped as his friend struggled to get in the water like all the others. This gorgeous black duck with the blue wings gave his friend light when there was none, he gave him hope when it all seemed lost, he gave him a chance when there wasn't one, he gave him a friend when there was none, he gave him a life even when it might have seemed bleak...
My heart broke having to leave them there. But they also helped to teach me a lesson I won't soon forget.
In this life we are faced with so many choices. The choice to do good or bad. To do what is popular, or what is needed. That black duck went up against all odds, he went against the crowd and fought hard for what he knew he had to do, even when it meant great sacrifice for himself. And though I know none of it could have been easy, it was obviously worth it.
Sometimes the right and kind thing to do isn't the easy, fun or popular choice... But none of those things matter in the end.
I know I would so much rather be that little black duck, being the only thing standing between a helpless victim and an angry mob, than be part of that mob inflicting so much pain. Doing the socially accepted thing or the popular thing does not mean you are doing the right thing.
I strive for kindness, helpfulness, and love each and every day. I know a lot of things I choose aren't necessarily the popular thing, and often I get ridiculed for that. But I refuse to stand down when I know the right thing must be done.
So... What side are you on?
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