Barn Owl Boys

How He Came To Be

He’s seventeen now, a somewhat weird but incredibly sweet boy. My wandering mind swoops me nineteen years back in time to age thirty-three, back to the morning of my early December birthday.

Lying on my waterbed, winter sun blazing through the floor-to-ceiling window, I felt purposeless for the first time in my life. The realization that my international consulting career was no longer fulfilling made my head hurt and my heart race. Harry, my personal astrologer, had explained in depth many years ago how my Sun sign, moon, Venus and rising sign all crammed into Sagittarius presented a personality full of energy and playfulness; a boldness so strong I would never give a damn what other people thought of me. I loved the excitement of seeing different cultures, flying in first-class seats, and staying for months in luxury accommodations. Major world capitols had become regular towns to me: Madrid, Paris, London, Zurich, Prague, and St. Petersburg were just a few of my overseas “homes.” Fluent in German, Spanish, French, and Italian, I was highly sought after by companies needing help with their corporate strategy. My pay could be described as “in the stratosphere,” and my bank accounts were well padded and strategically placed around the globe. However, currently I found myself mindlessly conducting business by rote…the fun had worn off.

I slapped my ten-year-old waterbed and laid on the resulting undulant waves from my repeatedly smacking it. After a few minutes, I rolled out of bed. Sophie, my tortie cat, rubbed against my legs and purred when I picked her up. “Sophie, it is time for me to do something else with my life. No more long-distance with you, Girlie. I am going to have a baby and you will get to snuggle with he or she.” Her purring became dramatically louder. “Ooh, I see you like that idea. I have been thinking about it for a long time. It’s time; my girl, c’mon let’s see what we can find.” My bare feet padded across the heated hardwoods to my laptop. While it was booting up, I put Sophie’s breakfast down and smiled as she gobbled her food, chomping, purring, chirping as she consumed it. Best part of my day was watching her eat.

Typing “sperm bank” into the search bar, I selected the third one on the page. It was AreYou SeriousAboutADonatedDad and upon opening it, I reviewed the FAQ section, the reviews, the application, and the process. This was a sperm bank for the wealthy, in Beverly Hills, but any could work globally. It was on the list provided by my Los Angeles gynecologist. She said it allowed search criteria that most didn’t. No profile photos allowed. We had brainstormed all possible scenarios regarding the rights of fathers. Then we created a fake recipient identification for me and a trust for the child-to-be. My attorney created an iron-clad non-disclosure form with me as the sole parent, no matter the state laws.

“Sophie! I found a swimmer bank that I'm phoning,” I said. No response from the now napping feline.

“Hello, yes, I am inquiring about using a sperm donor,” I said into my mobile phone to a man’s voice at the clinic. Following a short discussion, and providing my credit card for a non-refundable deposit of $375, login credentials were provided to view their online portfolio. Definite criteria in mind, I filtered on four objectives: age 26-34; income of $125,000-425,000; U.S. native citizen; no medical issues.

The search criteria produced only eight candidates. I noted their reference numbers and changed the criteria: age 27-32; height range; U.S. citizen; income over $100,000. This provided forty-eight candidates, three of which I’d already seen. I inserted all into a spreadsheet, then took the elevator to the building spa where the pool area didn’t have that icky chlorine odor. It was truly a relaxing spa and few people were there in the morning. As I sat in the sauna, I mentally reviewed the candidates. Anxious to review it in more detail, I showered quickly and returned to my top-floor residence. I was diligent in analyzing the candidates, then made my choice, candidate number thirteen, my lucky number. It fit together like a puzzle. Once decided, I had the sperm delivered to my gynecologist and she introduced it to my egg. Hello, Ms. Beda Egg, would you like to meet Lucky 13?

Motherhood Begins

It worked on the first try! I was pregnant with all-day nausea which my live-in Argentinian housekeeper, Martina, managed with hot tea, saltines, miso soup with chicken broth, and poached eggs on toasted croissants.

Nine months and five days after insemination I had a two-day labor. When the contractions were coming fast, my gynecologist met me in the hospital birthing room. My requests were allowed: room temperature at ninety degrees, sufficient light for Doc during labor, but once the head crowned the room was to be darkened, and only speaking in whispers. My baby would enter a world like the quiet warm womb it had exited. The swaddling blankets were in the blanket warmer. From start to finish, Jake’s birth was exactly forty-six hours, nine minutes. Martina had carefully timed it at my request, noting the exact birth time: eleven thirteen a.m.

Jakey was the cutest baby ever! He was unimaginably sweet and huggable. At three months he rolled on the floor making his way around the room; he began crawling at six months, and when he began walking at ten months, he seemed to be a rectangle with short legs and no neck. His giggle was infectious, his ears stuck out, and his hair was golden brown and curly. Jakey saw everything with his enormous dark brown eyes and never stopped talking once he learned. He was exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. I returned to my consulting, via teleconference, only for fifteen hours per week. Martina kept him busy during my work hours and I intended never to return to full-time work.

His Obsession

“Ma’am? Jakey wants to go there again.”

“What? Where?” I looked up at Martina, my thoughts on the project I was managing for a Zurich client.

“The Rehab Center, you know…”

I pushed back from my desk and went to my son’s room. “Jake? Martina says you want to go to Rehab Center again?” He nodded vigorously, his hands in the pray position which he knew always made me jump to please him. “All right, eat a quick snack and get ready to go.”

My driver got us there in forty-five minutes, purchased our tickets and we entered. Jakey headed immediately to the outdoor area where the injured creatures could be seen up close. He was fascinated with owls and this place had many. The Center's goal was to rehabilitate and release them if possible. There were some that would never go back to the wild and were used for education. This was his fifth visit here since last Thanksgiving. I walked through the center and let him wander amongst the five other grandmotherly visitors. When I finished walking through the gardens and exhibits, I found Jakey gazing at a barn owl.

“Mom, it says here her mate ate a poisoned rat and died but they were able to save her! They hope to release her back to the wild. Her name is Nina.” I frowned and hugged him. He was so sensitive. “Mom, we have to do something about saving them.” I nodded again, making a mental note to send a sizable donation.

Monthly visits turned into his being an educational volunteer, the youngest, at age eleven, ever allowed. Since he was so intelligent, the Center made an exception for him! He even got to travel to private fund-raising events in Beverly Hills with Karen, their education coordinator. Protective of Nina, he insisted on a fifteen-foot perimeter and total silence in the room when showing her. Individually people could come up within three feet but no sudden movements or touching. People would gaze in fascination as Nina would tuck her head into my son’s chest, right below his collar bone. She would rub her head on him and flare her wings. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, but I remember Karen saying how odd she thought it was that Nina always seems to know when Jake arrived. She would vocalize and flap her wings and then he would suddenly appear in front of her enclosure. It was as though they were intuitively connected.

Insults and Insights

Over the years I continued to do part-time consulting and when Jakey was thirteen, I took him to Tasmania. The company had chartered a private jet for us so that he was able to move freely on the plane, sleep comfortably and help himself to gourmet snacks and a library of movies. The flight was exhausting to me, and I realized I didn’t miss those long transcontinental flights. A private car was waiting for us upon arrival, and we were whisked to a lovely two-bedroom hotel suite with a private concierge and chef. We wanted for nothing. Near the end of the job, I signed us up for a short wildlife tour. When the guide showed up, I noticed his eyes widen at the sight of Jake in his mid-range hiking boots, khaki shorts, and black ball cap with his curly hair peeking out.

“Crikey, he is an odd one, isn’t he?” He tipped his hat at my glare. Jake smiled at him, and the driver burst out into a guffaw. “Wow, he has a load of teeth, oh yeah! Strange but cute little bloke, he is!” I was so pissed I couldn’t speak but didn’t want to disappoint my son, so we continued on the tour. When it ended, I told Jake to go on inside. As the driver said his goodbyes, hovering for his gratuity, I blasted him. “You are the most unprofessional hick. How dare you make comments about my child?” He just leered at me in wholehearted ignorance, no idea of his rudeness. I did not tip the asshole.

“Martina, hi! Yes, it’s lovely here. Next trip, I will bring you for sure. You sure deserve it. Say, could you get me an appointment for Jakey with his doc? Yes, as soon as possible. We land in one hour. Thanks so much!” I was always polite to Martina - she ran my house and loved my son. She was the same as family to me, not just an employee.

Four days later, I sat in the exam room waiting on Jake’s doctor. She checked him over thoroughly and then told me to wait in her office. She directed my son back to the waiting room. The receptionist immediately handed him the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle and a sudoku book. Jake was infamous with both puzzles and could finish the crossword in under six minutes, always totally correct. Sudoku usually took him about thirteen minutes, my lucky number. He was just so super bright and capable. A bit odd-looking, yes, but I loved his heart-shaped face and how his hair came into a widow’s peak on his forehead. He never had experienced trouble on the concert piano keyboard because even as a small child, his finger spread was that of an adult’s. I loved watching his long, graceful fingers shuffle two decks of cards when we played double canasta together.

“Beda, what is bothering you about Jake? He is healthy and happy. How can I help?”

I eyed Dr. Patterson and then looked away. “Carolyn, I took him with me on a business trip. Something odd happened.” She leaned forward on her desk, arching her eyebrows to urge me on. “A tour guide made fun of him.” Tears began to drip from my eyes. Any hurt toward Jake could make me cry, whereas a furious client just made me blink slowly. “The guide said he was weird looking and had a lot of teeth. He said he was strange but cute. How is that for a way to describe my lovable Jake?” The doctor got up and took my hand, leading me to a mirrored window to view the reception area. We gazed at my teenager.

“Beda, pretend like you are not Jake’s mother. Look at him critically.” She held up her hand to silence me. “Watch him now. Shh, just watch.” For fifteen minutes we watched Jake through the two-way mirrored window without him knowing.

I saw a gangly awkward teen with oversized ears protruding out similar to the koala bears we had seen. His fingers were long like a lemur once observed in a rehabilitation center. He had wide shoulders like a football player, but his arms hung from the shoulders like uncooked lasagna noodles. His body was like a bullet, neck tucked in, arms and legs suspended from the bullet. When he stood up, his feet pointed outward, in synchrony with his ears. When he turned around to the receptionist’s call, Jake grinned open-mouthed, and I saw what the guide had seen. A wide carp mouth that had an overbite and ditch deep dimples in each cheek and his chin. He stretched his neck long to hear the woman speak to him and I gasped.

“Oh! My God, I see it now!” I turned to Dr. Patterson. “Barn owls, he loves barn owls,” I mumbled.

“What are you saying about owls?”

“He loves barn owls, has an affinity for them. He looks like a barn owl! Heart-shaped face, little bullet body, widow’s peak…”

The doctor looked at me, then at Jake, and smiled as she pulled up a stock photo of a barn owl on her phone. “Hmm, there is a resemblance…Beda, you adore him so much you don’t see his oddness. That allows him normalcy. He knows he is different, but he doesn’t feel it or have a worry from it.”

The Search

I determined on that day to find the sperm donor.

“Yes, Mr. Barkles, I get it. I know I signed a contract all those years ago. You were the one I dealt with. It is good that you are still on the job. Your donors were supposedly checked for genetic issues and health issues. My son, the one I had via sperm from your clinic, has, well, shall we say, some odd physical characteristics. No, don’t interrupt me, please Mr. Barkles! I will finish what I have called to say! These characteristics could only come from a genetic fault. Therefore, I need to have more information. The genetic tests from the donor, his medical background, all of it.” I waited. Mr. Barkles used his very best calm voice, lowered an octave as if to hypnotize me.

“Ms. Montgomery, you know we cannot give you any information on the donor. You must trust our testing and standards and know that we only accept the best candidates and nothing less. I have your contract in front of me now and it clearly states…” I cut him off. I wasn’t going to listen to this shithole of an administrator trying to calm me or use a contract to stop me from finding the information I needed.

“OK, Mr. Barkles. Enough! My lawyer will be in touch today. Be prepared, Mr. Barkles. Be very prepared. My son is everything to me.” I ended the call. I was sitting in the over-padded executive chair in Randy’s office when I had called the sperm bank, on my speakerphone. He had taken copious notes and illegally recorded the conversation. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“I’ve reviewed your contract and he is correct. However, there have been issues over the decades with sperm banks. Some are not as ethical as they claim. You have your research on your family genetics and health histories and it proves that Jake’s appearance is not from your genetics! I will talk to Barry and get a search warrant.” I smiled. Barry was Randy’s longtime friend and a powerful family court judge. He wouldn’t need a bribe. This was clear-cut. The Cretan who donated his sperm had to be stopped. I would teach him a lesson.

The sperm bank caved to the threats from me and from my slew of lawyers stretching from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The pressure was constant. Threats to tie them up in court and stop new clients; threats of a full-on assault in the media; threats of personally suing Barkles in civil court. After nine months of weekly phone calls and threatening letters, Mr. Barkles called Randy to tell him that he would allow Randy and me to “confidentially” peruse the records of my donor.

My notes: Tuesday, February 13 (again my lucky number!). Randy and I sat down at the sperm bank to review the donor information. No STDs. No active infections. Six feet tall, Twenty-eight years old, from Racine, Wisconsin. Graduated in the top 2% of his university (probably bragging, couldn’t verify). He was paid handsomely for his sperm, that fucker!

Randy’s notes: (Randy is good at interrogating people as well as researching; he is on retainer to me with a hefty salary.) Verified Racine as birthplace; born Warren Richard Smith, verified university, he graduated in three years; one instance of malaria in Peace Corps which brought him home. Lived in SanFran when he donated, about twenty women used his sperm with fourteen full-term pregnancies. Three of the women had paid for private nurses and tutors - their children were girls with unusual intelligence and ectomorphic tendencies, tall, slim, long fingers.

“Randy, I want photos! I want the genetic tests.” He nodded at me. Randy was supremely good at his job but super slow and methodical. A Taurus to my stellium-three-pronged Sagittarius. I wanted it all NOW! He just plodded along and no prodding from me made him speed up the process.

After months of reviewing data and paying investigators to traipse across the country looking at Smith-spunk-donor-fucker’s children, Randy got a photo of him….and his family.

Utah

Walter and Warren

He now lived in Salt Lake City Utah. He was a successful businessman with numerous sporting goods stores. He hunted, the bastard. I hated hunters, shooting poor animals just trying to live their lives! Shit, Jakey’s dad was a murderer! Hell!

We went to SLC to see this jerk-off in person. We scrambled out of the Jaguar I had rented and I sauntered into his frigging store. On the walls were photos of him and his family. The sons among the ten children in the photo had protruding ears. Warren-daddy did not. He did, however, have strangely long fingers, pointing to his store in the background of the photo. He also stood with his feet in alignment with his ears. A Jake stance! Curly sandy hair and dark brown eyes, quite tall, as were his children, six girls, and four boys.

Randy was outside in conversation with the dickhead while I sauntered up and down the store aisles. Smith’s hunting trophies decorated the walls, heads of deer and elk. A nice young woman asked if she could help and I said no, but then turned back to her. “Are you the owner’s wife?” She smiled widely, a ditch dimple in her right cheek and an odd dimple above her right eyebrow. I couldn’t stop staring at it, having never seen anyone with a dimple on their forehead. “I’m Mr. Smith’s oldest child, Maryanne. He’s the owner.”

“Oh! Do you mind me asking your age? Your dad seems so young!” She grinned widely now, and I saw a resemblance to my son. A dark hole of a mouth like a carp with crooked teeth, and not a pleasant sight on her.

“I’m twenty-two. My dad got married to my mom when they were seventeen.” I just nodded and moved on, my mind whirling. Seventeen? So this girl is about nine years older than Jake? He was donating sperm when he was married and creating a family?

I skedaddled outside and motioned to Randy. He smiled widely and called me over. I didn’t really want to meet this animal murdering fucker in person! Randy waved at me so boisterously, I had to join them. “Beda, this is Warren! He owns the store; his lovely family all work in one of his three stores in Utah.”

“How nice,” I respond. Donor Warren grins at me, so proud. “Well, Warren, how many children do you have?” I see Randy’s disapproving look but ignore it.

“Oh, I have eleven great kids with my wife Patricia! I returned to this town after college. Did you see our family photo in the store?” I made my lips turn up into a semi-smile and shook my head no, lying. Eleven kids? Only ten in the photo…

“Randy, we need to get a move on. Ready?” He followed me to the Jag. As I opened the driver’s door, my eyes widened. “Randy, look!” I nodded rather than pointing at a kid who was bottoming out one side of a teeter-totter near the store. This was Utah where large families lived and Warren, being a very wise businessman, had put a playground right next to his store. This boy could have been Jake’s brother. I closed the car door and slowly walked toward him.

“Hi!” I beamed at him. He smiled back, a wide weird grin just like Jake’s stretching across his entire loopy barn owl face. He had the same widow’s peak on his forehead, a long beak-like nose, an untanned, unusually white face in sunny Utah. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“I’m Walter. My dad owns the store there. He has two other stores too. Did you see the taxidermy inside the store? My dad shot all of them, he’s an excellent shot.”

Frowning, I replied, “Well, it’s so nice to meet you, Walter. I personally prefer to see the animals alive and don’t care for hunting at all.” At his crestfallen look, I softened. “Walter, this is my friend Randy; we had a nice visit with your dad and your sister Maryanne. We’re Californians on our first trip to Utah.”

He grinned again and I saw the familiar deep dimples. He stood, feet pointing ou like his ears, his bullet-shaped body almost identical to Jake’s. They could have been twins, not identical, but so close.

He pulled a crossword out of his pocket to show me. My breath stopped. It was the New York Times crossword puzzle, completed. “I did this last night. I love crosswords. My mom doesn’t understand how I can do hard ones so fast but they’re easy!” I smiled gently at him. He was so personable, not at all shy.

“You must be super smart, gifted, as they say.”

“That’s what the teacher says. She tries to stump me but hasn’t been able to. I’m going to do the spelling bee in the Fall and win. I’ve won every year since I was eight.”

“Wow! How old are you now?” I replied, utterly charmed by this tyke.

“I’ll be thirteen in a couple of months. I plan to become a dentist. My teeth are weird and I want to help people like me.” He grinned wide to show me.

“I see. Well, that’s a noble goal and I’m sure you’ll help lots of people. My son Jake is on a path to becoming an ornithologist.”

“Really? I have a good friend at church whose dad is one. I love the owls the most!”

His remark about owls surpised me (another Jake feature), and I replied, “I have certainly enjoyed meeting and talking with you. We have to go now, Walter. You take good care of yourself, OK?” I turned and waved at him when near the car. “Hey Walter, can I take your photo?” He ran up and said sure, but I had him check with his dad first. Warren sauntered over and gave his approval with a caveat - he wanted a copy. I grabbed Randy’s iPhone and sent a text to Warren. Once he replied and I created the contact in Randy’s phone, I set it to portrait mode and had Walter pose.

I was stunned by this encounter so when Randy offered to drive, I rapidly agreed. “Randy, he could be Jakey’s twin! He is so sweet. I just…”

“You just what?”

“I fell in love with that kid. He is a wonder.” I pulled up Jake’s photo on my phone and Walter’s photo on Randy’s phone, gazing at both.

A text came in to Randy from Warren. “Hey, remember to send me that photo of my youngest.” I immediately texted the photo to him.

“Randy, everything is changed. The Barn Owl Boys are brothers, and they maybe should meet someday. I want you to get information on Walter and set up a trust for him. I want him cared for if anything happens to his health, his family, or their finances. I want money set aside for both boys that they will get if, and only if, they work hard on their own to make good lives for themselves.

Present Day, My 52nd Birthday

Today is my 52nd birthday. I'm on a high plateau near the Rehab Center, and Jake is readying Nina for her release into the wild. The staff had expressed concern that her bonding with Jake might stop her from leaving. He spoke softly to her and undid the leather straps on her talons. He pushed his arm high into the air. “Go on, Nina, fly away. You’re free. You can come to visit me.” I held my breath, hoping she would take off. She cocked her head at Jake, looked at Karen, flexed herself, and off she went! Jakey watched until she disappeared in the distance.

A photo comes in a text message from Randy. I smile at Jake’s photo. Wait! The geotag shows it is from Utah. This is Walter, not Jake. They look even more alike. Wow. Another text from Randy. “That photo is a new one and sent to you at Walter’s request. It’s his birthday in a month. Walter remembers your visit. He told me his birthday wish is to see you again and meet Jake. He hopes to connect him with his ornithologist friend from church. He also wanted me to tell you that he got his dad to stop hunting about three years ago.”