A Squirrel Named Amy

The images out of Iran are etched in my mind night and day as I've spent the last week glued to Twitter postings and CNN. I've seen a mother screaming at government thugs after they beat her seven-year-old son on the streets. I've watched the images of young women "confessing" on Iranian TV to crimes of being influenced by Western media, and bloodied students being dragged away to God knows where. I cannot help asking the question, "Where is our humanity?" How can humans exhibit such cruelty to one another?

Yesterday I waited in front of the Marriott for my colleagues to come down to ride to work. As I sat there by a fountain that seemed entirely too loud, feeling a gray fog over my heart from all that was going on a world away in Iran, I saw a very persistent squirrel standing by the front doors. As people came through the revolving glass panels, she darted in front of them, almost making one woman in heels trip to avoid stepping on her.

Then the squirrel saw a familiar face, a particular doorman dressed in a blue button-down who motioned to her to wait. He disappeared for a couple of minutes and came out with a handful of peanuts. He walked several feet away from the front door, and the squirrel followed. The first nut he offered, she took right from his hand, then scurried off to a grassy area where she enjoyed shelling it and eating the tasty treat inside. She, like me, sat watching passersby. We were people-watching together. Unlike me, she didn't have such grizzly images in her mind, and so I shifted my thoughts to her, watched her contentment, and let some of it be part of my own morning.

After a few minutes she walked over to the pile left by the doorman, grabbed another shell, and went back to her grassy perch to enjoy yet another nut. I went inside the hotel to ask the doorman about her. "Oh, you mean Amy. She comes here every morning for breakfast."

This morning I got downstairs early, ordered a coffee, and headed outside. I waited this time for Amy. Within minutes she showed again, eager for her doorman to bring her breakfast. We sat a few feet away from one another. In truth, I don't think she found me nearly as interesting to watch, as I did her.

I called to tell my daughter about Iran, the student protesters, rallies going on locally, and my experience with Amy. She listened intently, and finally said, "It's squirrels like Amy who make the world a better place." How true, I thought. Amy had reminded me of my own humanity.