Bird Guts Etc.

In younger days, my sisters, the neighbor kids, and I would play in the woods behind our house. It was our world. All manner of things happened in the "rainbow forest", as I called it. My friend Todd Cornfield and I snuck back there to see where his brother had secretly booby trapped the trail. I went along because, well, I knew what boobies were, but I had never seen a trap for them. I was terribly disappointed.

Over humid summers and long winters I found my childhood in those woods. I overcame my fear of crawfish, caught catfish, tadpoles, frogs, and minnows. And then I watched them all die. I buried dead pets and other dead things, then I dug 'em up again. I lost baby dolls, started fires, and made toys out of sticks. I climbed trees, harvested cattails and "cotton plants" and built forts. I would talk for hours to imaginary friends, scare myself to death with my own imagination, and then run home.

It. Was. Fantastic.

I also used to sit under our bird feeder in the backyard and pray that I could be like St. Francis of Assisi. I wanted birds and animals to flock to me. I would wait for them to come. One time, a fat little sparrow began to pick at the ground two feet from where I was. My heart was racing. My plan had been to stick out my finger. The bird would hop onto it and begin to sing cheerfully, just like with Snow White. But it all happened too fast. I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I waved my arms and screamed at the top of my lungs, "BOOOO!".

The bird flapped furiously, squawked, and slammed right into our back window. He fell to the ground. Bird poop was everywhere. I assumed it was his guts. It was horrible. I started laughing. I felt so guilty, but I couldn't stop laughing. The bird hopped dizzily a few steps and then took off.

Then, I cried.

I bawled.

These days, I don't have aspirations to be a monk named Francis. Nor do I wish to be a warbley-voiced woman living with seven men. I like who I am. So it makes me kind of happy that I see a lot of myself in my daughter.

We don't live anywhere near woods. We don't have a place to build a fort, and there are no birds at our feeder. But I think there is potential for her to have a great childhood too. She shows promise. She can play for hours with her "scary" baby doll (yeah, she thinks one of them is scary). She can make a toy out of a stick and build a fort out of a blanket. She talks to animals (except bears), and the other day, she asked if a hamster was seafood.

I am pretty pumped.

It's gonna be great.