The Thunderbirds

This past Sunday I read in the local paper an advertisement for the bird-watching enthusiast group that I am currently banished from, The Thunderbirds.  Although I was one of the founding members of The Thunderbirds, I actually had nothing to do with the name.  I expressed the desire that we name the bird-watching group after a local bird.  I believe my nominations were The Thrashers, The Sapsuckers, and, obviously, in order to attract potentially trust-funded frat boys who might die by falling off a paddleboat while drunk thereby donating their fortune to the group, The Titmice (see picture below ).  None of the other founding members approved of my choices.  I told them that The Thunderbirds made us sound like a middle-aged softball team very busy ignoring our effeminate sons, but the majority had their way.

The Thunderbirds advertisement read they would have a spring lunch on Saturday for those interested in learning about bird watching or joining the group.  Even though the Thunderbirds have banished me, I still long for that ornithological brotherhood.  Sammy and Boyce have both recommended I start a rival bird-watching enthusiast group, but I can’t do that.  Although I am banished from The Thunderbirds, and although their name makes me want to drink Budweiser while listening to Blue Oyster Cult more than watch birds, I cannot work against them.  This is why I wasn’t upset when Boyce told me that Charlotte was thinking of taking Boyce Jr. to the lunch on Saturday.  Boyce said he could tell Charlotte and his son to sabotage the lunch for my benefit, but that's not necessary.  Boyce Jr. should be allowed to be an innocent kid, uncorrupted by the pernicious betrayals of amateur ornithology groups.  Fly, Boyce Jr.  Fly.

It’s been almost six years since I was kicked out of The Thunderbirds.  It all came about because I found out some of the new members owned caged birds.  My dirty looks and vulgar mumbling wasn’t enough to convince these members of their moral deficit.  I demanded that Mukesh Patel, our president at the time, accept the following conduct policy for the group:

I, ___________, being born of human parents rather than wicked frost giants from a land where the sun never rises, believe that the caging of birds is not only stupid but wrong.  As birds were clearly meant to fly (no disrespect to the Southern Cassoway, Ostrich, Emu, etc.), putting them in a cage is the moral equivalent of putting the bird in a blender.

I also believe that if I cannot follow this most basic moral tenet, then I will throw myself into traffic at the first available opportunity.

Mukesh said he wasn’t going to make anyone read the statement, let alone sign it.  I said fine, and simply asked that we institute a policy of no bird ownership other than free range domesticated birds meant for fried, delicious consumption.  Mukesh didn’t agree, and when I brought it up to the entire group at the next Saturday morning meeting, I was voted down.  I then pointed out a squirrel and rabbit in the grass, and asked if maybe some of the group would like to put them inside a helium balloon hanging from a lamppost, just like nature intended.  I was then asked to leave by Mukesh. 

Two years later Mukesh moved away and a new president was named.  I showed up the following Saturday only to find out that Julia Albert was the new president.  I didn’t even open my mouth before she said, “I’ve still got my birds, Cyrus.  All of them.”  I turned around and walked home. 

On some days I think of caving and returning to The Thunderbirds.  Rachel, however, loved that I was banished from the group.  She told me when the birds are singing they’re singing to me, saying, “Thanks, Cyrus.”  I tried to tell her that birds sing for several reasons, but none of them is encouragement to humans.  She'd always interrupt and say, "What's that, little sparrow?  You just ate Julia Albert's finger?"  And I'd laugh because Julia Albert is fat and that sparrow would explode if he tried to eat her finger.