“Atticus said to Jem one day, "I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the backyard, but I know you’ll go after birds. Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "Your father’s right," she said. "Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” – Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
For most of my life, I have been a mockingbird--innocent, unassuming. I know how it feels to be hurt and trampled for crimes I never committed and weaknesses I could not control. I always thought I would remain a mockingbird because I believed that mockingbirds could only be hurt by others and never become murderers themselves. But recently, I learned that I was capable of so much more than singing and flying.
One week ago, I intentionally killed another precious mockingbird’s song and spirit.
I will not go into the specific details of the situation, but this mockingbird was the kindest person on planet earth. This mockingbird did nothing wrong and tried so hard to do everything right. I would have nearly given or done anything to spare him of pain; in the end, however, I became the source of his pain. While I do not regret my actions because I know it was the best thing to do, I still felt horrible, in the heat of the moment and the days following.
When I told this mockingbird that I did not think we could fly together any longer, overwhelming guilt flooded my heart. I could see the pain and confusion in his eyes. He questioned me for answers, but my responses brought him zero comfort. He walked away from me with his wings dragging on the cold cement. From afar, I watched him mope around in sorrowful circles; I hated myself for inflicting so much agony on him. For the sake of my own heart, I had damaged his, and if any sin was unforgivable and irredeemable, I think God would have chosen this one. The innocent should never have to suffer for the guilty.
After feeling like the worst human being in the world, I began to realize, with the help of others, that killing the mockingbird was a necessary sin. Our flying together was not only dishonest; it was harmful to both of us. We both had to adjust in order to fly in harmony. While alterations are needed at times, it is impossible to adjust things that were never meant for each other in the first place. If I had continued to lead him on and convince myself that our flight patterns would eventually align, that would not be fair to him or me. I would rather kill a mockingbird’s song than lie about how much I loved his music.
So I killed a mockingbird’s tune. While I loathe myself for doing it, I do not regret it. If the mockingbird is reading this right now, I hope and pray that he realizes my actions were for both of our sakes. I loved and respected him too much to deceive him, even for the sake of his own happiness. We could have kept flying together, but we both deserve better; we both need to fly with someone who flies like us. I wholly believe that one day he will find another mockingbird who will fly with him forever, and his tune will be revived; and maybe then, my sin will be atoned.
