I hate birds. This past month I have been haunted by birds. Dead birds, bloody birds, wings of birds, baby birds,  bird eggs and bird attacks.

Tonight, as I reflected upon all these bird incidents, I couldn’t help but think about where my hatred for birds began. Surprisingly,  within 30 seconds I recalled a moment in time.  A moment defined by yellow tights, an elementary school’s Fright Night, tap shoes, and the Jackson 5′s infamous “Rockin Robin” song.

It was 1997 and my dance studio decided that for the yearly Company Production we were going to do a dance to “Rockin Robin”.  To make a company production work, you always needed two things: 1.) multiple dance classes involved in the number and 2.) a “catch” . Company productions were  not your typical dance routines and in order to make them standout from the rest you added a “catch” or concept for extra OOMPH!

To make the company production of “Rockin Robin”  one-of-a-kind, the dance teachers decided that each class was going to be a different bird depending on age group: oldest girls being Red Robins, middle age groups being Blue Jays, and the youngest being Chickadees  i.e. little yellow chicks. Now according to age and dance group, I was on my way to being a bonafied Blue Jay. (FYI: Blue Jay outfits consisted of blue furry fabric down to the knees, a hat that had eyes and a beak attached, yellow tights, and tap shoe attachments that look like bird claws. Totally normal and cute dance costume right?) However, things took a turn for the worst when the choreographers started lining up formations. I quickly became a sore-eye with my knobbie knees and 4′ tall frame. With my height being below average it was decided that I would become a Chickadee. At first I was down with being a chick because they sounded little & cute, but then I heard about the costume and I couldn’t help but think ‘Why ME?!?’

I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be twiners with my cousin Alexa who was a BLUE JAY, and my costume would be a giant egg.  At that moment I knew the whole switching characters thing was not working for me. A Blue Jay was perfectly horrendous and I wasn’t ready or willing to travel down an uglier road with the Chickadee look. My inner screams of anguish went unheard as I began standing in line with the Chicks.   Our costumes were created to look as though we were new hatchlings breaking through our eggs. Imagine a XXL white leotard stuffed with cotton to make an egg shape, black puff paint used to create an appearance of cracks, yellow wings, claws, beak-hats, and tights.  Now if you’re not good at imagining bird-themed dance costumes please calm down.

Sadly, I have taken the liberty of embarrassing myself by putting on remnants of my old costume and taking pictures. Please take a gander and snicker shamelessly…

Obviously the main chunk of my costume is missing (puff painted egg with attached wings). I couldn’t find the bodysuit on such short notice. If it makes you feel better, remember that getting the egg costume on- which was made for my 5th grade body- would have been unlikely.  You would have seen more than you bargained for.

Anyways, to wrap up this ’why i hate birds’  post, I would like to take you to October of ’97.  My dance studio agreed to preform for an elementary school’s “Fright Night Festival”. I was totally OK with this UNTIL -pause- I found out it was my school.  For weeks I had a permanent stomachache as I awaited the upcoming performance. That night  the gym was packed with my entire school.   As the music started I couldn’t help but cringe with embarrassment as I literally  ’flapped’ around stage in my egg costume.  All I can remember thinking and hearing was:

“Rockin Robin TWEET TWEETLY-TWEET…..buffalo… buffalo… step- ball change… OMG I’m flapping my wings. Is that the cutest boy in my grade laughing at me? shuffle shuffle… time step….. I have an egg snuggie. Rockin Robin TWEET TWEETLY TWEET…. my bird claw attachment is flapping around! buffalo… buffalo… maybe no-one will recognize me with this giant beak hanging in my face… I HATE MY LIFE!!! DIE BIRDS, DIE!!! Blow rockin robin ’cause were really gonna rock tonight… “

So as I struggle day in and day out with this bird flu remember this- I am a victim of BIRD abuse.  

No one should have to witness their dog killing a toddler bird who fell out of its nest and then watch it take its last birdie breaths. No one should have to walk around their mothers patio examining gallons of birdie blood a wounded bird dragged around. No one should have to pick up smashed birdie eggs and embryos off their patio. (there were seriously 6 of them and I have no idea where they came from) NO ONE enjoying an outdoor lunch should have a dove land within 3 feet of them followed immediately by 2 giant crows which proceed to peck the younger bird to death and tear out its feathers. And lastly NO ONE should EVER… EVER…. have to hear the quivering voice of their precious niece ask, “Aunt Keighley is that little bird in heaven now flying??? Is it all better now even though Piper killed it?”

Shame on you Rockin Robin. Shame on you.

{and shame on me for sharing the above pictures.}

Keighley