All Write, Already!

I’ve had a least one pet bird all of my life. I grew up with Amy, my dad’s peach-faced love bird who didn’t care much for me. Honestly, most birds are rightfully weary of toddlers and young children. It wouldn’t take much “cuddling” to accidentally crush a little birdie. Amy was bonded to my father, so she was also quite jealous of mom and myself, for commanding so much of dad’s attention. However, I have a series of sweet photographs from my childhood featuring Amy playing with my toys, sitting on the top of my crib and, my personal favorite, playing a game of chess with me.

When Amy passed away, we buried her in a check box in a spot near the birdbath in my parent’s back yard. I mourned, though she and I had a complicated relationship. I was in first grade, and heavily into Garth Brooks. I was convinced the lyrics of “New Way to Fly” were about my immediate situation, and that Garth had written that song especially for Amy.