Duck Herding 101

I stare out across the small yard, the ducks staring back at me.

There had to be at least fifteen of them, looking confused, all scattering in different directions. “This way!” Dad yells, trying to herd them in the right direction, around the first two cones, through the makeshift tunnel, up the slide and around the bend.

He keeps screaming at the ducks, as though they are humans and will obey his commands immediately. He uses his wooden stick to try to scare them into moving in the right direction, but it fails and only scares them more, causing the throng of ducks to scatter.

“Dammit!” he yells, dropping the stick, letting his knees drop below him and covering his face with his hands. “I’m never going to get it right!”

Dad thinks I can’t hear him, but it is all I can watch, all I can think about as I see him looking defeated. I move towards him, my small seven-year-old self looking big even among the ducks. “Dad, it’s okay,” I start to stay, trying to comfort him. “You just have to keep practicing.” Dad turns at the sound of my voice, surprised to see me in our backyard. He stands up, his tall, lean body looming over me, and storms past me back into the house.

I sit down on the soft grass, letting big, fat tears roll down my cheeks into my lap. I take a deep breath, remembering what Mom always says about Dad when he is upset.

“He doesn’t mean it, baby. I don’t know what he’s mad at, but it’s not you.”

I quickly wipe the tears off my face, stand up, and grab the wooden stick that Dad dropped on the ground. I move over to the ducks, who seemed to have stopped what they were doing and have put all their focus on me. They stare up at me, their beaks turned up towards the sky, their black eyes waiting for a command. I start doing what Dad does, telling them where to go, using my body rather than my voice.

Unlike the response Dad received minutes ago, the ducks start gathering, neatly in a line, following the shape of the obstacle course. Past the two cones, through the tunnel, up the slide and around the bend.

My heart starts beating faster, I can’t believe my eyes. I smile the widest I ever have, amazed at what I have done. I turn towards the house to find Dad and show him, but he is already watching from inside, with a scowl on his face. My smile fades, we lock eyes, and I am frightened.

********

“What is it a convention for again?” Shelley asks me as I slide past her and grab two short sleeved button-down shirts to put in my suitcase. Before I can answer, she pulls them out of the suitcase.

“No, honey, these are so nerdy.” I sigh, setting them back in the spot I just took them from. I grab two other shirts and look to her for confirmation. She nods.

“It’s for duck herding. I told you that a million times. It was even, like, the first thing we talked about when we started dating,” I tell her, which is true.

“Tell me something unique about yourself that’s really important. Like a defining characteristic.” She asked, her eyes shining. I had braced myself for the impact, for the snorting and the laughter.

“Duck herding,” I simply said, letting out a deep breath of air. “My dad used to do it when I was younger, and while he may have given up, I never did.” I uncomfortably moved around in my chair, as I always did when talking about Dad.

Shelley hadn’t laughed or smiled, but simply said “tell me more about that.”

“Yeah, but I kind of thought you were kidding,” Shelley shyly smiled, bringing me back to the present.

“Yeah, right,” I said, not believing her. “If you really thought I was kidding, you would have laughed.”

“Fine,” she smiles. “What is involved, then? Do you have to bring your own ducks to herd?” she teased, but I wasn’t going to indulge her. I change the topic, focusing on my clothes again.

“So, how are these shorts?” I ask her, as I pick up the shorts for her approval. She rolls her eyes at me with a smile and walks out of the bedroom.  

********

Later that night, Mom asks me about the convention. “Are you sure you want to go, honey? What if you run into him?” Her voice turns to a whisper at the end of the sentence, as if I don’t know who “him” is. “He used to go every year, you know.”

Don’t I know it, I think to myself. Apparently, my silence speaks more than words because Mom seems to read my mind. “I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to say this, but it’s not your fault he left,” she says.

I sigh. “I know,” I quietly say, feeling my throat start to tighten up.

As a kid, I had always thought that Dad left because of me. I always thought about what Mom had said, that he wasn’t mad at me, that he hadn’t left because of me. But maybe it was something I saw in my time with Dad that Mom hadn’t. Maybe it was something that couldn’t be explained. Maybe he was jealous that I was good at duck herding and he wasn’t. Maybe he was sick of his son outshining him.

As I got older, I slowly let go of these thoughts because I knew how crazy they sounded. But there was always a small part of me that never let go of it and still believes it to this day.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat, “I’m excited. I’ve never been before, and I’ve always wanted to go.” I hear Mom smile on the other end of the phone.

“I know, honey. You deserve this.” I take a sigh, readying myself for a possible run-in with Dad. It was one of the reasons I had refused to go every year. This year, though, I couldn’t let him stand in my way.

**********

I finally get past security, and enter the room, amazed by the spectacle in front of me. “Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in.

I don’t know where to go first. The booth that provides tips for duck herding, free giveaways for duck herding obstacles in the back corner, or the famous duck herder himself, Chip Simmons. I feel myself being pulled in a million different directions, as throngs of duck herders walk past me. I look down at the schedule for the day in my hand, trying to decide which talk to go to first. I don’t know what makes me look up from the paper, but something catches my eye.

A tall, lean man is resting his head against the wall in the back of the room. He looks like he is muttering to himself, maybe trying to muster up the courage to do something. He seems familiar at first, but I don’t know where I know him from. Then it hits me; my Dad is here just as I should have expected.

I don’t know why I am surprised to find him here, when this is what I was avoiding all these years. I am surprised I don’t recognize him right away, but then I remind myself it’s been thirty years and we both have changed, hopefully for the better.

I don’t know if I should run out of the room, run straight to him and reconnect, or drop on the floor and curl myself into a ball. All of these seem like bad options. I stand frozen where I am, as the sounds of hundreds of duck herders travel around me.  

My hearts starts beating faster, as it usually does when duck herding. My body makes the decision for me, before my mind knows what it’s doing. I feel myself start walking towards Dad, as if

I am outside my body, watching myself from above. I almost reach him, ready to speak my mind, when a boy, around ten years old, excitedly jumps in front of him, looking ready to pull him in a million different directions. “Dad, come on!” he exclaims, and I stop in my tracks.