My Big Black Feather

As a child, I remember having a flair for feathers. I maintained an album book with different feathers. I had no great knowledge about birds, yet I collected their feathers with great zeal.
I had two peacock feathers and was striving hard to complete the trinity. I had feathers of all shades; pink, green, red, and white. I distinctly remember having this pink feather which had a little extension to it, I called it baby feather. Somebody once told me, that applying talcum powder and hard pressing these feathers in a note book has great effect on feathers. I never questioned their intellect. My only objective was to have a hundred feathers. Hundred was a big number then.
I used to take a generous helping of my grandmas 'Yardley' powder and sprinkle a little on every page of my book. I would then hard press these feathers in my note book and patiently wait for the baby feathers to grow. Every Sunday, I would religiously open my album book and check if these feathers were there. To my eyes, the feathers looked bigger, every time I opened it.
One day, I took my album book to school. I exchanged a few feathers with my friends in school. A lot of them wanted my pink feather. A friend of mine was ready to trade her peacock feather for my king sized pink feather. But the pink feather was my priced possession. The peacock feather could wait. On my way back home, I met my cousin, who was quite boisterous. I proudly opened my album book and displayed the feathers to her. In a blink, the feather was gone. She pulled it out of my album book and ran for her dear life. I chased her for quite a distance, but of no avail. Tears rolled down my cheek, and before I knew it, I was howling away to glory. A lot of my grandmas well wishers, and curious onlookers, stopped by to find out what the matter was. With all the sniveling, I could barely speak. Finally, I reached home. My grandpa took one look at me and thought that I was sick. He let me settle down. I poured out my heart to him. That night, I was inconsolable. I told my grandpa that he should admonish my cousin for stealing my feather. My grandpa never took sides. He simply nodded his head.
The next day when I returned from school, my grandpa seemed excited. He had a gift for me. I remember feeling happy from within. What more could a broken hearted kid of eight ask for. He instantly pulled out a big black feather and handed it over to me. This big black feather had a soft baby feather attached to it. One look at it, my smile withered. I loved the feather, but I hated the colour. My granpa told me that this feather was unique and nobody else would have it. That night I was a happy child.
Next day, I proudly displayed the feather to my friends in school. Everybody wanted a look at my priced possession. My class teacher stopped by listening to the racket we were making. One of the girls shouted out , “Miss, Cresilla has got a big black feather, Miss”.
My teacher walked up to me and asked me for my feather. I felt the blood rush to my cheek. My only worry was that if the teacher liked the big black feather, then she would take it. With a stone on my heart, I pulled out the feather from my album book. One look at it, and she announced, “Children, that's a crows feather. Haven't you seen a crow?”. The whole class burst out laughing.
Suddenly I felt my hands and legs turning cold. I couldn't believe my ears. My grandpa, actually got me a crows feather. I was totally miffed. I went home, and refused to talk to my grandpa. My grandpa seemed upset. All he said was “ I'm sorry, I didn't want you to cry”.
Today, when I reminisce, I can't help but smile. My grandpa indeed had a heart of gold. He was so caring. My fetish for collecting feathers wilted away, but my grand fathers love will remain in my heart forever.