The Talking Bear

She didn't know the secret.

She was four when she first visited the city’s Museum of Life and Science with her family.

Everything about the museum was new and exciting and fascinating for Sara: the animals, plant life, habitats, diets, sleeping habits, ecology, everything.

And everything was so puzzling.

Sara was most curious about the gigantic eight-foot stuffed black bear that stood over her just three feet away, his mouth opened as if in a roar, his paws raised as if he was ready to pounce, and his claws and teeth sharpened to a razor’s edge.

A nearby visitor pressed the button to hear what the bear would do when threatened, and the stuffed bear let out a roar that startled Sara.

She ran to her mom and said, “Mommy, that black bear over there talks. He does. I heard him.”

“No, Sweetie, bears don’t talk,” her mother said.

“No, Mommy, I heard him. Come with me. I’ll show you.”

Sara dragged her mom to the black bear exhibit. She scanned up and down the monster of a bear for a minute. Looking at the bear’s face from different angles, Sara then tried to imitate the bear with her hands and mouth several times.

Sara squinted and then put her fists on her hips. Certainly a lecture was forming inside her head.

She folded her arms and then yelled up at it, “Talk, bear, talk. I heard you talk before, so talk!”

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