I’m kind of afraid of birds. They creep me out. The Big Daddy, he loves ’em. Sometimes, I think we have absolutely nothing in common except gin. When my brother, Tom, was younger he got attacked by a bird right outside the front door. “Gull damn blue jays”, my mom said. To this day, if she hears a bunch of birds squawking, she’ll say, “It’s those gull damn blue jays.” I was about 40 before I knew that she was saying “goddamn” instead of naming a species of the blue jay.
The Big Daddy and I are headed out with the Chillens on a road trip to a family wedding. From here to Iowa to Illinois, he will point out every hawk he sees along the way. On wires, fence posts, along the road. Hawk. Hawk. Kath, a Hawk. This is what I do in the car on a road trip. Read, nap, eat Skittles. Sometimes I yell at The Big Daddy, “For chrissakes watch the road and not the hawks or you’re gonna get us killed.” Then I go back to snacking on my Skittles because I’ve got low blood sugar. Or maybe it’s high blood sugar. I can’t remember which ailment I have, but it’s the one that needs sugar in order to stay alert in case the gull damn birds start attacking.
