Oct 12, 201207:24 AMBecause I'm the Dad
Parenthood through a Father's Eyes
INCOMING!
I have a fear of birds. It’s something that I get grief about all the time, so I figure this is as good a time as any to tell my side of the story.
I can’t remember a time that I actually liked birds. They just have always been a source of terror for me.
When I was young, my parents thought it would be fun to have a parakeet. They named it Tweety, of course, and then got all humanitarian and decided that Tweety should be free-range in the house.
You know how they say animals can sense your fear? Well Tweety was THAT animal. IT—and I will refer to Tweety as IT since I honestly don’t believe it had a soul—would happily spend its days dive-bombing my head. I felt as though the house was my own personal battlefield and the word “INCOMING!” still rings through my ears.
Tweety is long gone now, but that has not stopped my loathing of those rats with wings. However now my kids are in on the “joke” along with my in-laws and just about everyone I know.
The family has so much fun with this that they look for ways to torment me.
Consider the fact that a few years ago we went to Sea World in Florida. I tend to walk ahead of them, so imagine my shock when I rounded a corner—alone—only to be blinded by what I thought was a river of Pepto-Bismol flowing toward me. There must have been 350,000 flamingos being herded down the walkway right into me. For a minute, I thought I was Tippi Hedren in a Hitchcock movie. I don’t think I have ever spun and run as fast as I did that day.
When my wife and kids saw me come around the corner with the buzzards hot on my tail, the image was burned into their brains. I will never live it down. Now every Christmas, my father-in-law makes it his goal to find something flamingo-themed to give me as a gift. What’s the term? Salt in an open wound???
I can honestly say that I do like spending a day in New York City. We make the trip maybe three or four times a year, if we are lucky. But there is just something about stepping out onto those mean streets of Manhattan and having a pigeon put his little black pellet eyeball on you. I know he just wants to kill me. I don’t worry about the big city crime. I am more concerned about getting pecked to death.
Some people are afraid of spiders or the dark—hey, we all have something that keeps us up at night, right? Mine just happens to have a beak.
For the record, there has always been one bird that I have loved. Usually it is deep fried and crispy. You might call it unhealthy. I call it revenge.
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