First inkling. In the depths of my cluttered mind, I can grasp onto a single idea of my earliest memory. It started with a faith that was implanted in me from the day I was born, that G-d was omnipresent. Innocence sparkled in my hopeful eyes as I gazed at every object in my life. Nobody dared to destroy the bliss of childhood, causing me to believe in G-d as the answer to many of the numerous questions I pondered. My sole moment of awakening was from a nightmare, which forced me to realize the truths of the world. However, I will never forget the pleasures of strolling along in life imagining its simplicity and wondering why it was harder for others to experience the truth.

Summer blends with spring and fall, leaving fall to appear for a miniscule period of time throughout what should be winter. Each autumn we rely on few leaves to transform into our prey as we pounce on them like cats attacking laser pointers. I crunch three leaves before reaching my smeared glass door and scream as I gaze upon the sight. A tiny head lies upon our step staring ahead with an open beak as if requesting aid. Two immature miniature claws are spaced apart on the ground as if it tried to escape, but could not lift itself to complete the Herculean task. Fluffy blue feathers became frizzy and tangled resultant of a far fall from the reflective door to the harsh ground.

Tears hide behind my eyes as if mortified of their own existence as I weakly beckon my parents over. My brother, a year fledgling to me, joins in my mourning of the lost soul of the gullible blue jay. My dad bends down and gently lifts the bird into his arms and begins to amble away as I commence my interrogation of his subsequent actions.
I had one query for my dad to respond to before I would allow his successful departure. Where are you taking the bird? He answers in the expected fashion; he is taking the bird to heaven so it can be with G-d. I accept his response, though I ponder over the few unanswered questions on my mind.

I wonder where he is going to meet our deity and how would he be able to present him with this injured animal.

I wonder why this event is selective enough for me to be banned from attendance.

I wonder why G-d cursed us with fewer leaves in our fall and greater sun in our winters.

I wonder if my dad was a prophet of G-d, like Moses was who performed wonders for the world incognito.

I wonder if he was the Hermes of our Earth, guiding creatures that couldn’t be properly buried to their proper resting place.
I wonder if my dad was a superhero sailing across the sky towards the heavens with his bounty at hand.
I wonder why my dad would keep a secret about his true identity; I wonder if his true nature was as just as I conjectured it. Wondering brought me the strife of losing a family member who was habitually present, causing me to believe the lies I fed into my system, filling my head up until it became as chubby as my juvenile body. Peaking out of my stuffy internal structure is hope originating in our kinship.