The migration of some

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I remember that afternoon when I freed the canary who was in the balcony cage. No one in my family wanted to talk to me for at least a week. And they all got mad at me for doing the right thing, I should be mad at them for depriving that beautiful bird of freedom. The canary sang, fluttered in his cage when he saw other birds land on the balcony railing. Everyone in my family loved birds, although they were always selfish, they wanted to have all the beauty a bird in a cage.  I remember when the canary was still a chick. It was incubated in a small cardboard box upholstered with yesterday's newspaper. There it grew up fed with a syringe, drinking water from a gallon cap of milk. When he was flapping, his flight was cut short. After that, it lived in the cage. The closest thing to a branch that the canary had seen was the small swing hanging from one of the wires the cage was made of.  I remember that afternoon when I freed the canary who was in the cage on the balcony, because that same afternoon I left home, but before I left, I grabbed the door of the cage and unscrewed it from the wires. The canary flew, I still feel like seeing it. However, I was surprised the day my family spoke to me again. They told me that they understood what I was doing and that I should follow my dreams, they even invited me to dinner and I accepted. I returned home, to that house from which I migrated like a bird in winter. There it was, singing and worst of all, the cage still had no door.