Those that know Will and I like to hear about our rivalry. Here is a story I wrote for his paper a couple of years ago…
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If you get your exercise by walking or jogging around Death Valley during specific times of the day, it might not be uncommon for you to notice a couple in their early 30s’s--one usually decked out from head to toe in Clemson attire, and the other sometimes wearing a Gamecock shirt.
I am not sure if wearing a Gamecock shirt around the very stadium that the Tigers play in is considered brave or just plain dumb.
Let's just go ahead and get it out in the open--I graduated from The University of South Carolina. There, I said it. For those of you who think I'm brave for wearing a Gamecock shirt in Tiger Town, thanks! For those who thought the other, well....we just will not talk about that.
This issue has been a mixed emotion of pride and humiliation for my husband.
He is as proud as he can be at the accomplishment, but you can see in his eyes that he wishes it would have been another school...any school but USC. By now, you have realized that he is a Clemson fan. We have had fun with each other throughout our 10 years of marriage. We like to give each other a hard time, but take it lightheartedly...until THE BIG GAME. On that day, the marriage license is temporarily considered null and void.
I explain this to you so that you will know how I felt when I was asked, by my husband, to attend Tommy Bowden's Ladies Football Clinic.
Basically, the initial response was "the look". Men and women alike know what I am referring to. For example, when a husband asks his wife if it would be okay to watch football on a wedding anniversary, "the look" is displayed, and there are no need for words.
He quickly tried to justify his request by explaining that he really needed a female to document the experience and would I please help him out. After much thought, I decided that maybe I could use this for blackmail later and agreed to go.
The next time I want to go shop the clearance racks at the mall, and he says no, then I will simply say "football clinic." That ought to do the trick.
Will also believes that I need a lot more learnin' when it comes to football. We attend all of the Clemson home games, and there is a certain routine that is followed. We get there fairly early, set up chairs, walk to Hardees's for the fried chicken, listen to the Pre-Game show, walk to the stadium, head for the stand that sells the $5 ice and sugar water, get the biggest one they have for me, and then head to our seats.
Once the game begins, my focus is the shaved ice. It is my source of entertainment until halftime. Occasionally, my husband will lean over and tell me why Clemson is not winning or what they are doing right. I give him a "yep", and dive back into the ice.
At halftime, it's time for boiled peanuts. I take those back to my seat and am content with their entertainment until the end of the game. Okay, this is sort of an exaggeration, but you get the just.
I went into the clinic sort of undercover. I did not tell anyone that I went to school at USC, save one nice lady from Lexington. I am here to tell you that women are vicious and these particular women were not playing.
To disclose this information about my past would have been pure suicide. I simply walked in like I had been a Clemson fan all of my life.
To begin the day, we were taken out to the practice field where we were taught to pass, punt, and kick. The coaches gave us the complete experience by making sure to bark out orders and correct any sloppy skills. It was very hot outside and it wasn't long before I heard the first woman say, "I wonder when it is going to be time to go back inside." I will have to admit that I was thinking the same thing myself.
Some women...and you know who you are...make it a habit of yelling during the games. Such things as, "I can kick better than that with my eyes closed!" will come flying out of your mouths without guilt. I believe that this experience will change that, or hope it will. Next time you have the urge to volunteer this comment, think back to the clinic when you so confidently dropped the football, raised your leg to kick it, and instead saw your leg fly through midair while never making contact with any object. It is truly hard stuff, and even harder for a player dressed out in pads in 100 degree weather.
Now, for you men that are laughing at the thought of these ladies passing, punting, and kicking, don't get me wrong. There actually were a few women that were pretty good at these tasks. Two women, from Lexington, in my group--go Group B--were particularly good at these things.
They were rewarded with a football signed by Coach Bowden. As for me, I didn't win anything. Enough said...moving on... After a full hour of passing, punting, and kicking, we were taken to the McFadden Building to meet with Coach John Lovett and Coach Brad Scott. We were to be given an offensive and defensive lecture.
First Coach Lovett took us on a tour of the building. "Ladies, no dilly dallying! Let's keep moving," he said as he took us on the tour. He pointed out all of the trophies, banners, plaques, and where team meetings take place. Once that was complete, we were taken back to the lecture room.
Coach Scott began the lecture by teaching us a thing or two about offense.
He drew plays and explained them. He would periodically stop and ask the ladies what a particular play was called or what a certain football term meant. Some women knew their stuff, and called out answers easily. I was only able to respond by acting like I was tying my shoe, or if something came out of my mouth, it sounded sort of like....duh.
Coach Scott taught us about 60 coverage and 700 coverage. He taught us what a blitz is and explained why the quarterback sometimes throws the balls into the stands.
Next, it was Coach Lovett's turn. He began by yelling, "Sit straight up in your chairs! Put both feet on the floor!" You can bet that both of my feet were firmly planted. Although, I think I did see the signs of a tiny smile showing through his sternness. Coach Lovett was clearly loving this, and the ladies were too. They, after all, wanted the full experience.
He, like Coach Scott, asked the ladies several questions as he explained defensive plays. Most seemed to know a lot of them. We learned why poster boards with numbers on them are held up during the game.
We learned a sign that is given to the team so they will know the next play.
We also learned why defensive players are substituted so frequently. I am sure that a lot of husbands learned some new things when their wives returned home.
After Coach Lovett's lecture, we viewed a video tape shown to potential recruits. It showed Clemson's highlights to music, such as a hard tackle or a catch in the end zone. Of course, every time a USC player was hit on the screen, everyone went ballistic. I sunk down just a little lower in my chair.
As for the rest of the ladies, they were on fire because of the tape. They were screaming, clapping, and yelling. They're definitely ready for the season to begin.
Next, it was lunch time--turkey sandwich, chips, apple, and a cookie. Coach Bowden was on hand to sign autographs and take pictures with the fans.
After lunch, some things happened that I don't know if I should mention. We were told that the motto of the clinic is, "What happens at Tommy Bowden's Ladies Football Clinic stays at the clinic." Oh well, I don't think anyone would really mind.
Are you ready for the big secret?
Justin Miller, No. 9, came out dressed in full gameday gear. Then, four ladies stripped him. I kid you not.
This was all in good fun, of course. And, besides, there was a lesson to be learned here. We weren't just there to stare and whistle at a young man who has well defined muscles and whose body fat is only seven percent.
Of course not.
This was done so that we could learn what the equipment does and how much it costs. The women were allowed to remove his helmet, shoes, socks, jersey, pads, and pants.
I think some were actually disappointed to see that he had on a long pair of shorts under the pants. Obviously, those were not removed.
We learned the function and cost of each piece of the uniform as it was removed.
I think Justin Miller was loving life. At one point, his teammate, defensive tackle Eric Coleman, could no longer contain himself. He ran over and got a feel of the muscles as well.
Then, it was Coach Bowden's turn to speak. He said the explaining of the uniform has been done since the clinic began. He stated that one time, there was a particularly obnoxious woman in the crowd who kept standing up on her chair and cheering for the player while his uniform was being removed.
He began to feel scared that the woman was going to fall, so he finally had to say, "Sit down Linda!" As you know, Linda is his wife.
Coach Bowden told several jokes during the lecture, but he also gave the audience a chance to ask questions. He spoke of the upcoming season, and seasons past. He told one joke about the Gamecocks, but I will not print it here. The joke was meant for the ladies only. Refer to the aforementioned clinic motto.
Coach Bowden, if you are reading this, you can send Clemson/USC tickets as a thank you. Just kidding...but if you want to...
After his speech, we were taken back out to the practice field for some offensive/defensive drills. This was not a time to play. This was serious stuff. The coaching staff did a fine job of making the ladies feel like the players.
Coach Dabo Sweeney would yell, "Where are you going?!" when anyone began their play too early. Again, this was all in good fun and the ladies loved it. Miller, Coleman and Chansi Stuckey were there as well, and they seemed to enjoy it even more. They really got a kick out of seeing the women sweating, and being bossed around.
The last session of the day included a tour of the weight room and the locker room. Well, we thought we were going to tour the weight room. When we arrived, we were actually told by the weight trainers that we were there to work.
The warm-up drill, consisting of running through a flat ladder and high stepping hurdles was shown, and then we were told to do it. This was no warm up drill....it was more like a torture drill....hard work.
Next, we were told to get on the floor for some sit-ups. During the situps, Coach Joey Batson screamed, "This isn't Pilates! This isn't Yoga! Get to work!" I am positive that a lot of women went home with some sore muscles.
We were then taken to the locker room.
The ladies were ecstatic and there was a mad dash to find Charlie Whitehurst's locker. Many posed in front of it, while pictures were taken. The training room was the last to be shown, and the trainer explained the different methods used to heal the players.
The finale of the clinic would follow. This would be the moment that every woman there had anticipated.
Women came from as far as Michigan, New Jersey, and Ohio, to name a few.
They wanted to experience what some refer to as "The most exciting 25 seconds in all of college football." You got it--the entrance to the field during the playing of 2001.
Just kidding! Please don't tar and feather me.
It was time to run down "The Hill."
I, on the other hand, had been dreading this for the entire day. Running down a steep hill with approximately 400 fanatical women, while trying not to fall, did not seem all that appealing.
My husband, on the other hand, had other ideas. "I need the picture for the paper," he tried to explain. Okay, I can use this for more blackmail, I thought. Our 11th anniversary is coming up--I think a cruise sounds good.
So, off I go up this hill with these women. They are jumping up and down, clapping, and screaming like maniacs.
We were given the full treatment. The carpet was rolled out. On the big screen Coach Frank Howard gave his speech about keeping "your dirty, filthy hands off my rock if you aren't going to give 110 percent." Tiger Rag started to play, the Tiger shot off the cannon, and down we went!
Now, this was hilarious. We were trying not to run into those in front of us and I know almost all were praying not to fall.
Lots of jealous husbands met us at the bottom.
I somehow made it to the bottom alive, and am here to write my experience down. While the clinic didn't turn me into a die hard Clemson fan, I will agree to root for them when they're not playing USC and--for reasons too long to explain here--especially when they're playing Tennessee.
I will wear my Tommy Bowden Ladies Football Clinic shirt with pride, when walking around Death Valley. After all, as a USC graduate, it is an accomplishment to complete such a day.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
BIG LEGS AND RAINDROPS
We went to a football game last night. Will is a big Steelers fan. His Dad is from Pittsburgh and Will has been a fan all his life as a tribute to him. I’ve never been to an NFL game and it has been a long time since Will has attended a football game as a fan vs. a sports reporter. I was all for it because I love to travel and I love to try new things. I even bought a Pittsburgh shirt. Do I know anything about them? No, I don’t.
We set out for Charlotte around noon. We had a room reserved at the Marriott right beside the football stadium. Once we got into downtown, we got somewhat lost and so we did what we always do…yell at each other while snatching the directions out of each others hands repeatedly until we finally found the hotel.
Once there, we were directed to park in a huge parking garage. We were told our room was on the 11th floor. So, we got on the first elevator we saw only to realize that it only went up 6 floors. Will shrugged his shoulders, and pressed 6, as if this was an enchanted elevator and we would magically arrive on the 11th floor. I was holding our pillows, which we refuse to travel without, and glaring at him behind my sunglasses.
The elevator was very, very slow. It was one of those clear ones that make you sick as you travel upward. We painfully climbed 6 stories and when the door opened, we were on the 6th floor of the parking garage. Will gave me an astonished look. He couldn’t believe the magical elevator didn’t work. I shook my head at him, and pressed 1.
Finally, we realized that we must enter the actual hotel before we could get to our room. We entered the lobby and were met with an assortment of football fans. The Panther fans were blatantly staring at us and the Pittsburgh fans were all suddenly our best friends. They started calling out, “How are you doing? Go Steelers! Did you have a long trip? How long are you staying?” Will began working the lobby like a politician greeting all of his fellow Steeler fans. Four guys sitting in the hotel pub, who had obviously already consumed a small ocean of beer, yelled for us to join them because there weren’t enough Steeler fans in there. Will yelled back that we would join them shortly, as if they were long lost friends of his.
We got on the real elevator, which had a funny mirror on its ceiling, and headed to our room. It turned out to be great, more like an apartment. It had its own kitchen, living room, bedroom, dressing room, and bathroom. Our view included a large construction site on the ground below and all of the skyscrapers around us. We spent a few minutes studying life below. Will asked me what I thought that skinny dude was doing and I was like what skinny dude, and before we knew it we were discussing where we thought everyone on the street was going and what kind of person they were.
Later on, Will managed to say something to make me mad. I don’t even remember what it was, but I stomped to the other room. My plan was to totally ignore him for a while. However, when I came back in the room with him he was holding our digital camera as close to his ear as possible trying to take a picture of the inside of it. I gave him an incredulous look and he explained that something was itching his ear and he was trying to take a picture of it so he could see what it was on the camera screen. Don’t you hate when you want to be mad at someone and then they make you laugh until you almost pee your pants while you are trying to use your most hurt, mean, I will never talk to you again face?
At this point, we decided to venture out. We got back on the elevator with the funny mirror and laughed like it was the first time we saw it, went back through the lobby and were shouted at by all of our new friends again, and hit the pavement. The stadium was only about a 2 minute walk away. While on our tour, we were greeted by lots of Pittsburgh fans. This huge man with a Pittsburgh jersey on looked right at me and said, “Go Steelers!” What? Oh yeah, I forgot I was wearing the shirt. I needed to play the part. “Woo hoo!” I yelled back.
A man then came over the loud speaker and announced that the Panther cheerleaders, otherwise known as women with large boobs falling out everywhere, were fixing to put on a show in front of the stadium. Will started checking his pockets and asked me where his binoculars were. He is now sporting a lovely new bruise as a result of that question.
Once back in the hotel, I decided that I wanted to find the pool. I don’t know why I wanted to find it because I didn’t bring my bathing suit, but it was a must anyway. We couldn’t find it so I decided to ask an employee. How could I have known that he didn’t speak English? I asked him where the pool was and he looked confused. I started saying poooool really slowly and using my arms to swim like an Olympian mid-air. His response was something like no, no, no. Will stood by laughing. I actually thought I gave a good swimmer impersonation performance. Whatever…
The local news began to give forecast warnings. “The following counties will be hit by thunderstorms”….”um…what county are we in?” “Will, I think you should call the front desk and ask.” No, it’s not going to rain here, they aren’t talking about this county.”
Fast forward….we are now waiting in line to enter the stadium where we are informed that everyone must undergo a pat-down before entering. We notice many men and women wearing latex gloves who are assigned the job of “patting”. I nervously asked Will what they were going to pat exactly. Do they pat everything? Women could hide bombs in their breasts right? While we wait, we discuss all of the things that women could hide…
We survived the pat-down and began the long walk up to the nosebleed section. By the time we arrived, I was panting and in need of an oxygen tank. Enter dark clouds and lightening…a digital sign came on in the concourse that announced fans would not be allowed to enter the stadium as a result of bad weather. I looked at Will, he looked at me. Another “I’m right, you’re wrong” moment for the wife. We ended up having to wait over an hour for the lightening to pass. We were then allowed in and began the long, long, long climb to the top of the stadium. We were only 4 rows down from the top. We found our seats, climbed over everyone already seated, and then of course my seat was by a guy who looked like he needed to be out on the field. His leg was so huge that he had no choice but to rest half of it on mine, which was an uncomfortable thing. Now cue the rain. Large drops of rain, not little drizzle. We became soaked within seconds.
The water was just rolling off of our arms and head. Will looked at me and said, “boy you sure are sweating a lot”. I ignored him. We began wondering how long we would have to sit through this and how uncomfortable we were going to be sitting in wet clothes the whole game. Will tried his “you sure are sweating a lot” joke again. Not funny…
So, we sat. The dude beside me had his gigantic leg on me and all of the rain that was falling on him was now pouring down his head and arms and landing on me. Lovely…
As the game went on, Will rambled endless facts and statistics about Pittsburgh. I nodded and tuned him out. Then an announcement was made that everyone who had a Harris Teeter card should hold it up and yell and jump up and down and the jumbotron camera would find one of them and that person would get a prize. That was hilarious…best part of the game. I just found it unreal the way people acted trying to win the prize. Even Hulk Hogan beside me got out his keys which had a Harris Teeter card/keychain on them and waved it around. Funny stuff…
Then, they announced that a cruise would be given away to a person that the jumbotron found waving their Triple AAA card. Say, what?!! Ok, this wasn’t funny anymore. This was now a serious matter. I was bummed. I didn’t have my card with me. Even though I laughed at the Harris Teeter people, I would have gladly gone in the middle of the football field and done the Macarena for a free cruise. I am bringing it next time, including all my other cards...Ingles, Bi-Lo, Gym, College ID, etc. You never know….
Will decided around the third quarter that we would try to go sit in the lower level since half of the stadium had cleared out. We hiked down and find out that in order to get in the lower level you had to pass through some strict security. So, we stood against a wall and Will kept telling me to look at how fast the speed of the players were compared to college. Uh…yeah, whatever. About this time, a security guard came over and, in a not so nice tone, asked us if we need help finding our seats or what. Will told him that we were just stretching our backs and we headed out.
Back in the room, we were exhausted, but had trouble sleeping in the tiny bed we were given. We discussed the day and tossed and turned until the alarm went off and it was time to head back home. On the long drive back, I informed Will of the long list of reasons he should nominate me for the Wife of the Year Award.
We set out for Charlotte around noon. We had a room reserved at the Marriott right beside the football stadium. Once we got into downtown, we got somewhat lost and so we did what we always do…yell at each other while snatching the directions out of each others hands repeatedly until we finally found the hotel.
Once there, we were directed to park in a huge parking garage. We were told our room was on the 11th floor. So, we got on the first elevator we saw only to realize that it only went up 6 floors. Will shrugged his shoulders, and pressed 6, as if this was an enchanted elevator and we would magically arrive on the 11th floor. I was holding our pillows, which we refuse to travel without, and glaring at him behind my sunglasses.
The elevator was very, very slow. It was one of those clear ones that make you sick as you travel upward. We painfully climbed 6 stories and when the door opened, we were on the 6th floor of the parking garage. Will gave me an astonished look. He couldn’t believe the magical elevator didn’t work. I shook my head at him, and pressed 1.
Finally, we realized that we must enter the actual hotel before we could get to our room. We entered the lobby and were met with an assortment of football fans. The Panther fans were blatantly staring at us and the Pittsburgh fans were all suddenly our best friends. They started calling out, “How are you doing? Go Steelers! Did you have a long trip? How long are you staying?” Will began working the lobby like a politician greeting all of his fellow Steeler fans. Four guys sitting in the hotel pub, who had obviously already consumed a small ocean of beer, yelled for us to join them because there weren’t enough Steeler fans in there. Will yelled back that we would join them shortly, as if they were long lost friends of his.
We got on the real elevator, which had a funny mirror on its ceiling, and headed to our room. It turned out to be great, more like an apartment. It had its own kitchen, living room, bedroom, dressing room, and bathroom. Our view included a large construction site on the ground below and all of the skyscrapers around us. We spent a few minutes studying life below. Will asked me what I thought that skinny dude was doing and I was like what skinny dude, and before we knew it we were discussing where we thought everyone on the street was going and what kind of person they were.
Later on, Will managed to say something to make me mad. I don’t even remember what it was, but I stomped to the other room. My plan was to totally ignore him for a while. However, when I came back in the room with him he was holding our digital camera as close to his ear as possible trying to take a picture of the inside of it. I gave him an incredulous look and he explained that something was itching his ear and he was trying to take a picture of it so he could see what it was on the camera screen. Don’t you hate when you want to be mad at someone and then they make you laugh until you almost pee your pants while you are trying to use your most hurt, mean, I will never talk to you again face?
At this point, we decided to venture out. We got back on the elevator with the funny mirror and laughed like it was the first time we saw it, went back through the lobby and were shouted at by all of our new friends again, and hit the pavement. The stadium was only about a 2 minute walk away. While on our tour, we were greeted by lots of Pittsburgh fans. This huge man with a Pittsburgh jersey on looked right at me and said, “Go Steelers!” What? Oh yeah, I forgot I was wearing the shirt. I needed to play the part. “Woo hoo!” I yelled back.
A man then came over the loud speaker and announced that the Panther cheerleaders, otherwise known as women with large boobs falling out everywhere, were fixing to put on a show in front of the stadium. Will started checking his pockets and asked me where his binoculars were. He is now sporting a lovely new bruise as a result of that question.
Once back in the hotel, I decided that I wanted to find the pool. I don’t know why I wanted to find it because I didn’t bring my bathing suit, but it was a must anyway. We couldn’t find it so I decided to ask an employee. How could I have known that he didn’t speak English? I asked him where the pool was and he looked confused. I started saying poooool really slowly and using my arms to swim like an Olympian mid-air. His response was something like no, no, no. Will stood by laughing. I actually thought I gave a good swimmer impersonation performance. Whatever…
The local news began to give forecast warnings. “The following counties will be hit by thunderstorms”….”um…what county are we in?” “Will, I think you should call the front desk and ask.” No, it’s not going to rain here, they aren’t talking about this county.”
Fast forward….we are now waiting in line to enter the stadium where we are informed that everyone must undergo a pat-down before entering. We notice many men and women wearing latex gloves who are assigned the job of “patting”. I nervously asked Will what they were going to pat exactly. Do they pat everything? Women could hide bombs in their breasts right? While we wait, we discuss all of the things that women could hide…
We survived the pat-down and began the long walk up to the nosebleed section. By the time we arrived, I was panting and in need of an oxygen tank. Enter dark clouds and lightening…a digital sign came on in the concourse that announced fans would not be allowed to enter the stadium as a result of bad weather. I looked at Will, he looked at me. Another “I’m right, you’re wrong” moment for the wife. We ended up having to wait over an hour for the lightening to pass. We were then allowed in and began the long, long, long climb to the top of the stadium. We were only 4 rows down from the top. We found our seats, climbed over everyone already seated, and then of course my seat was by a guy who looked like he needed to be out on the field. His leg was so huge that he had no choice but to rest half of it on mine, which was an uncomfortable thing. Now cue the rain. Large drops of rain, not little drizzle. We became soaked within seconds.
The water was just rolling off of our arms and head. Will looked at me and said, “boy you sure are sweating a lot”. I ignored him. We began wondering how long we would have to sit through this and how uncomfortable we were going to be sitting in wet clothes the whole game. Will tried his “you sure are sweating a lot” joke again. Not funny…
So, we sat. The dude beside me had his gigantic leg on me and all of the rain that was falling on him was now pouring down his head and arms and landing on me. Lovely…
As the game went on, Will rambled endless facts and statistics about Pittsburgh. I nodded and tuned him out. Then an announcement was made that everyone who had a Harris Teeter card should hold it up and yell and jump up and down and the jumbotron camera would find one of them and that person would get a prize. That was hilarious…best part of the game. I just found it unreal the way people acted trying to win the prize. Even Hulk Hogan beside me got out his keys which had a Harris Teeter card/keychain on them and waved it around. Funny stuff…
Then, they announced that a cruise would be given away to a person that the jumbotron found waving their Triple AAA card. Say, what?!! Ok, this wasn’t funny anymore. This was now a serious matter. I was bummed. I didn’t have my card with me. Even though I laughed at the Harris Teeter people, I would have gladly gone in the middle of the football field and done the Macarena for a free cruise. I am bringing it next time, including all my other cards...Ingles, Bi-Lo, Gym, College ID, etc. You never know….
Will decided around the third quarter that we would try to go sit in the lower level since half of the stadium had cleared out. We hiked down and find out that in order to get in the lower level you had to pass through some strict security. So, we stood against a wall and Will kept telling me to look at how fast the speed of the players were compared to college. Uh…yeah, whatever. About this time, a security guard came over and, in a not so nice tone, asked us if we need help finding our seats or what. Will told him that we were just stretching our backs and we headed out.
Back in the room, we were exhausted, but had trouble sleeping in the tiny bed we were given. We discussed the day and tossed and turned until the alarm went off and it was time to head back home. On the long drive back, I informed Will of the long list of reasons he should nominate me for the Wife of the Year Award.
GREEN WITH A SPLASH OF YELLOW
Our house is only truly quiet at night. During the day, a steady stream of phrases such as, “Here comes the creepy crawler!” and “Popcorn!” and “Come Here!”….to name a few….and songs such as, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Hey, Good Lookin’”, “La Bamba”….to name a few…are heard over and over and over and over….
I guess God brings you back down a notch when you inform him that you are going to have 3 kids, live in the country surrounded by woods, on a dirt road, and have a slow paced life. Instead, He says, “Um….that ain’t happenin’. (I’m sure God talks with a country accent sometimes, ok?) I decide your fate and here it is--you are going to live in a subdivision within city limits, with no trees, live a very busy life, and oh by the way, you will have an insane parrot to care for until you die because they have a lifespan of 70-80 years. Deal with it.”
Willis, so named by my grandmother, came into our lives upon her passing. He was less than a year old at the time. According to him, he is a “Pretty Bird!” and “Oh, what a good boy!”. To be specific, he is a double yellow headed amazon parrot, with a personality the size of Texas.
Willis has been a blessing in disguise, although it took us months to figure this out. We picked him up in Florida. The year was 2004. He rode in his cage, in the back of our Jeep, all the way to South Carolina. Repeatedly, he said, “hello? hello? hello?” I can only imagine what was going through his mind. Birds are very loyal, we would come to find out. I’m sure he did not understand why we had kidnapped him from my grandmother (Mema), who passed away 3 days earlier. And, I am 100% certain that we had no clue what we were all in for.
We took him to the vet the same week we brought him home. We put his entire cage in the back of our Jeep again and set off. It was a 45 mile drive. At the last turn, a dump truck ran a red light. We slammed on our brakes and Willis’s cage broke into pieces and he flew all over the place. “What in the heck are these people trying to do to me? Where is Mema?!” he must have been thinking.
Will and I reassembled the cage and ran him into the vet, all 3 of us about to die of heart attacks. We took him back to a room to wait. Then, we were told that we needed to go back to the waiting room, because they were fixing to examine him and he was going to think he was being tortured and would not forgive us for not rescuing him if we were in the room. We tentatively walked back to the waiting room and waited for what seemed like forever. Then, we were told that we would now be allowed to “rescue” our bird so that he would feel like we were his heroes. “Come again? You must be joking!” I blurted out.
But, they weren’t. They laid out one of those blankets that hospitals give newborns…white with blue and pink trim….brought him in and put him on the blanket and told us to allow him to run to us. “What kind of freaks are we dealing with here?” I thought more than once. I truly felt like I was having one of my all too common crazy dreams. Trying to hold back laughter, I kneeled down and here came this green bird, with a yellow head, running as fast as his tiny little legs would allow him to. I scooped him up, asked him what they did to him back there, and petted his little head. Ah, the bonding moment…I was his hero.
Before this incident, he would bite and scratch me to the point of drawing blood every time I would try to touch him. Again, I was his kidnapper and he wanted his Mema!
We were told that he would need to take some medication for a few weeks, for a minor respiratory infection. It was in a syringe. “Simply put it in his mouth and squirt it in”, they said. Seemed easy enough. Um….NOT! This bird was deathly afraid of this syringe looking thing coming at his mouth and would haul tail every time we tried to bring it near him. If you’ve never seen a parrot run as fast as he can, then you are missing something funny. We called the vet—“Throw a towel over him, then pick him up, and squirt it in his mouth.” she said. Ok, no problem. Again….NOT. Every time we would get near him with a towel, he would scream like a banshee, and bite the living daylights out of us.
Bonding time was over. He hated us again. He probably got down 1/8 of medicine that cost us more money than we thought we’d ever have to pay for parrot medicine.
As time went by, I spent more and more time trying to win Willis over. I would allow him to come out of his cage on his own where he would play happily, and say things like, “Open the window!”, which he learned from me repeating that to him every time I opened the blind to the window behind his cage.
But, if I came near him, he would lunge out and bite me. I worked with this bird for so many hours that my arms were covered with bruises and Will wouldn’t allow me to go out in public without a long sleeve shirt on because he was certain that people were going to think he was abusing me.
And, then one day, after telling him to “step up” which is supposed to be the most basic training command for a parrot, he actually did it! I could have cried. He sat there on my arm staring at me and I sat there staring back. “Now what?” we both thought.
As time went by, I was able to handle him more and more. And, as of today, he will lay on the couch with me, on his back, like a dog and cuddle. He will shake hands, wave, and blow kisses.. Sometimes when he sings, he lowers his head into his food dish so it will echo…his own homemade microphone.
He speaks in context a lot and the majority of people don’t believe it until they see it with their own eyes. When he sees us putting on our shoes, he starts repeating, “Be back after while. Going to Wal-Mart.” When we come home, he screams, “Hey Willis! Hey Pretty Bird!” If we stay upstairs too long and he hasn’t seen us for a while, he will yell out, “What are you doing, doing, doing? What are you doing up there?” He learned that phrase from me yelling at Will when he would disappear upstairs. We aren’t sure why he decided to add 3 “doings” but that’s him for you. He seems to enjoy saying things in 3’s, like “tickle, tickle, tickle” and “get ya, get ya , get ya.”
He loves to sing and dance. He has 3 moves—he will bob his head up and down, pace back and forth opening and shutting his wings a little, and then he has a Stevie Wonder impersonation…moving his head back and forth to the point that we think he just might throw his head out of joint. He sings “Jesus Loves Me”, “Itsy Bitsy Spider”…the one that people find the funniest is “I Believe I Can Fly”. He also makes up his own songs. One goes, “Bye bye Willis, whacha doin’, bye bye Willis, pretty bird.” He has been singing that one for a while and it still makes us laugh every time because he made up his own words and his own beat.
In fact, he pretty much makes us laugh to the point of tears every single day. He is only 4 and is so smart that it is scary. He thinks he is in charge of the dogs. He’ll say, “Bailey, come here! or Bailey, go outside!” Bailey is a miniature dachshund so sometimes we call him “weenie”. Recently, Willis has started saying, “Hey, wee wee!”
We had a black lab named Trey that passed away in February. Our middle dog is named Belle. Willis used to like to mix their names and say, “Hey Trelle, come here Trelle!”
He can sing and say so many things that I can’t list them all here. When we travel and he has to stay with the vet, they all celebrate when he comes in. One of the vet assistants recently told us that everyone in the lobby and throughout the building can hear Willis singing and talking away. She said that when things get tense, like when they have to put down an animal, and everyone is sad, they can always count on Willis to do something crazy, like sing his version of “God Bless America” which happens to be him imitating me singing it very, very badly!
Oh, and the laugh. He loves to laugh and it is genuine. It’s a mixture of my laugh and Will’s laugh. When he knows that we are laughing at him, he will say, “Oh, Willis” as if he just thinks of himself as the funniest thing in the universe. Anytime he falls or trips, he laughs. When the dogs howl at a passing ambulance, he just thinks it is the funniest thing. He will let out a hearty laugh, and then yell, “What are you doing, doing, doing?” Sometimes he just sits in his cage and laughs at his own thoughts and the laugh is contagious.
I could go on all day. I can’t end it without talking about bath time though. On that very first vet visit a few years ago, it was explained that we must give him frequent baths. “Are you people smoking it or what? This bird doesn’t want us touching him, much less bathing him!” I thought.
But, we were told that it is a must in the bird world. So, we bought a shower perch and a spray bottle and went at it. At first, he sat there and gave us the dirtiest look that you could imagine. But now…..you really have to see it. He will open his wings and turn all around, lift each foot so that water can be poured on them indivudually, but here’s the catch…you must sing and dance the whole time you are spraying him or else he will just sit there and glare at you. Once you start the singing/dancing he sings and dances back to the point of almost falling off his perch. Seeing me and Will “perform” while spraying this bird is truly a sight to behold in of itself…..very hilarious indeed.
Willis has truly been a blessing in disguise. We couldn’t imagine life without him.
I guess God brings you back down a notch when you inform him that you are going to have 3 kids, live in the country surrounded by woods, on a dirt road, and have a slow paced life. Instead, He says, “Um….that ain’t happenin’. (I’m sure God talks with a country accent sometimes, ok?) I decide your fate and here it is--you are going to live in a subdivision within city limits, with no trees, live a very busy life, and oh by the way, you will have an insane parrot to care for until you die because they have a lifespan of 70-80 years. Deal with it.”
Willis, so named by my grandmother, came into our lives upon her passing. He was less than a year old at the time. According to him, he is a “Pretty Bird!” and “Oh, what a good boy!”. To be specific, he is a double yellow headed amazon parrot, with a personality the size of Texas.
Willis has been a blessing in disguise, although it took us months to figure this out. We picked him up in Florida. The year was 2004. He rode in his cage, in the back of our Jeep, all the way to South Carolina. Repeatedly, he said, “hello? hello? hello?” I can only imagine what was going through his mind. Birds are very loyal, we would come to find out. I’m sure he did not understand why we had kidnapped him from my grandmother (Mema), who passed away 3 days earlier. And, I am 100% certain that we had no clue what we were all in for.
We took him to the vet the same week we brought him home. We put his entire cage in the back of our Jeep again and set off. It was a 45 mile drive. At the last turn, a dump truck ran a red light. We slammed on our brakes and Willis’s cage broke into pieces and he flew all over the place. “What in the heck are these people trying to do to me? Where is Mema?!” he must have been thinking.
Will and I reassembled the cage and ran him into the vet, all 3 of us about to die of heart attacks. We took him back to a room to wait. Then, we were told that we needed to go back to the waiting room, because they were fixing to examine him and he was going to think he was being tortured and would not forgive us for not rescuing him if we were in the room. We tentatively walked back to the waiting room and waited for what seemed like forever. Then, we were told that we would now be allowed to “rescue” our bird so that he would feel like we were his heroes. “Come again? You must be joking!” I blurted out.
But, they weren’t. They laid out one of those blankets that hospitals give newborns…white with blue and pink trim….brought him in and put him on the blanket and told us to allow him to run to us. “What kind of freaks are we dealing with here?” I thought more than once. I truly felt like I was having one of my all too common crazy dreams. Trying to hold back laughter, I kneeled down and here came this green bird, with a yellow head, running as fast as his tiny little legs would allow him to. I scooped him up, asked him what they did to him back there, and petted his little head. Ah, the bonding moment…I was his hero.
Before this incident, he would bite and scratch me to the point of drawing blood every time I would try to touch him. Again, I was his kidnapper and he wanted his Mema!
We were told that he would need to take some medication for a few weeks, for a minor respiratory infection. It was in a syringe. “Simply put it in his mouth and squirt it in”, they said. Seemed easy enough. Um….NOT! This bird was deathly afraid of this syringe looking thing coming at his mouth and would haul tail every time we tried to bring it near him. If you’ve never seen a parrot run as fast as he can, then you are missing something funny. We called the vet—“Throw a towel over him, then pick him up, and squirt it in his mouth.” she said. Ok, no problem. Again….NOT. Every time we would get near him with a towel, he would scream like a banshee, and bite the living daylights out of us.
Bonding time was over. He hated us again. He probably got down 1/8 of medicine that cost us more money than we thought we’d ever have to pay for parrot medicine.
As time went by, I spent more and more time trying to win Willis over. I would allow him to come out of his cage on his own where he would play happily, and say things like, “Open the window!”, which he learned from me repeating that to him every time I opened the blind to the window behind his cage.
But, if I came near him, he would lunge out and bite me. I worked with this bird for so many hours that my arms were covered with bruises and Will wouldn’t allow me to go out in public without a long sleeve shirt on because he was certain that people were going to think he was abusing me.
And, then one day, after telling him to “step up” which is supposed to be the most basic training command for a parrot, he actually did it! I could have cried. He sat there on my arm staring at me and I sat there staring back. “Now what?” we both thought.
As time went by, I was able to handle him more and more. And, as of today, he will lay on the couch with me, on his back, like a dog and cuddle. He will shake hands, wave, and blow kisses.. Sometimes when he sings, he lowers his head into his food dish so it will echo…his own homemade microphone.
He speaks in context a lot and the majority of people don’t believe it until they see it with their own eyes. When he sees us putting on our shoes, he starts repeating, “Be back after while. Going to Wal-Mart.” When we come home, he screams, “Hey Willis! Hey Pretty Bird!” If we stay upstairs too long and he hasn’t seen us for a while, he will yell out, “What are you doing, doing, doing? What are you doing up there?” He learned that phrase from me yelling at Will when he would disappear upstairs. We aren’t sure why he decided to add 3 “doings” but that’s him for you. He seems to enjoy saying things in 3’s, like “tickle, tickle, tickle” and “get ya, get ya , get ya.”
He loves to sing and dance. He has 3 moves—he will bob his head up and down, pace back and forth opening and shutting his wings a little, and then he has a Stevie Wonder impersonation…moving his head back and forth to the point that we think he just might throw his head out of joint. He sings “Jesus Loves Me”, “Itsy Bitsy Spider”…the one that people find the funniest is “I Believe I Can Fly”. He also makes up his own songs. One goes, “Bye bye Willis, whacha doin’, bye bye Willis, pretty bird.” He has been singing that one for a while and it still makes us laugh every time because he made up his own words and his own beat.
In fact, he pretty much makes us laugh to the point of tears every single day. He is only 4 and is so smart that it is scary. He thinks he is in charge of the dogs. He’ll say, “Bailey, come here! or Bailey, go outside!” Bailey is a miniature dachshund so sometimes we call him “weenie”. Recently, Willis has started saying, “Hey, wee wee!”
We had a black lab named Trey that passed away in February. Our middle dog is named Belle. Willis used to like to mix their names and say, “Hey Trelle, come here Trelle!”
He can sing and say so many things that I can’t list them all here. When we travel and he has to stay with the vet, they all celebrate when he comes in. One of the vet assistants recently told us that everyone in the lobby and throughout the building can hear Willis singing and talking away. She said that when things get tense, like when they have to put down an animal, and everyone is sad, they can always count on Willis to do something crazy, like sing his version of “God Bless America” which happens to be him imitating me singing it very, very badly!
Oh, and the laugh. He loves to laugh and it is genuine. It’s a mixture of my laugh and Will’s laugh. When he knows that we are laughing at him, he will say, “Oh, Willis” as if he just thinks of himself as the funniest thing in the universe. Anytime he falls or trips, he laughs. When the dogs howl at a passing ambulance, he just thinks it is the funniest thing. He will let out a hearty laugh, and then yell, “What are you doing, doing, doing?” Sometimes he just sits in his cage and laughs at his own thoughts and the laugh is contagious.
I could go on all day. I can’t end it without talking about bath time though. On that very first vet visit a few years ago, it was explained that we must give him frequent baths. “Are you people smoking it or what? This bird doesn’t want us touching him, much less bathing him!” I thought.
But, we were told that it is a must in the bird world. So, we bought a shower perch and a spray bottle and went at it. At first, he sat there and gave us the dirtiest look that you could imagine. But now…..you really have to see it. He will open his wings and turn all around, lift each foot so that water can be poured on them indivudually, but here’s the catch…you must sing and dance the whole time you are spraying him or else he will just sit there and glare at you. Once you start the singing/dancing he sings and dances back to the point of almost falling off his perch. Seeing me and Will “perform” while spraying this bird is truly a sight to behold in of itself…..very hilarious indeed.
Willis has truly been a blessing in disguise. We couldn’t imagine life without him.
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