My kids had their winter break last month. We spent the week with out of town family -museums, bowling, sledding, cousins, grandparents and an extravagant amount of ice cream made it a wonderful week. But I have to say, the highlight of the trip was the introduction of my family to Angry Birds.
Angry Birds is an easy game to learn. It consists of using one’s smartphone to fling disgruntled fowl from a slingshot, kamikaze style, smack into offending pigs and monkeys. It is ridiculous, addictive, and easily the best thing since the mini-Twix. (I pity he who had such low expectations as to make sliced bread the standard. Dream big! Eat fun-size chocolate!)
Despite their anger, these birds have a remarkable ability to bring people together. My 3 year old taught me how to play – I was relieved that he had learned the game from his babysitter and not his internet girlfriend. And he sat next to me as we taught my nonagenarian Zaidy the finer points of the game.
Zaidy has been understandably sad since the loss of his wife of 60 years, but for a few glorious minutes he launched him some angry birds, marveling at the brilliance of technology and its simultaneous stupidity. There was something special about multiple generations of ornithologists squished together elbow to elbow, cheering each other on.
On a few occasions my husband and I stayed up late trying to beat just one more level. Or six. The monkeys had the audacity to laugh and chatter at us as we devised strategies on how to knock them from their smug little perches. I don’t know what the monkeys did to so thoroughly enrage the Birds, but somehow their mildly violent destruction felt justified and righteous. I have always thought of myself as peace loving, but the Birds showed me that my time spent hugging trees and loving peace has distracted me from nurturing my inner war-monger. Peace may indeed have its place, but whacking the heck out of something is not a skill that we should let languish.
During our trip we ironically went to an aviary where we encountered some actual angry birds. These were injured and abandoned creatures that had been brought to the aviary hospital for treatment. We found these birds to be far less entertaining than their animated brethren. In fact, upon hearing about the extent of their various injuries, my son promptly threw up in the nearest garbage can. (And here I had him pegged as a surgeon. Rocket science it is!) This made me appreciate the Angry Birds even more. If you must be angry, do it with flair! Bowl things over! Don’t just sit there, all scarred and pathetic and vomit inducing.
The Angry Birds have inspired my children to create a knock off version of the game called Angry Crows (no trademark infringement here…) in which one child barricades himself on the couch with pillows and the remaining two take turns flinging each other at the fortress to try and pound their brother from his post. They assign each other special features – you be the bird that explodes, you be the one that splits into three, you be the bird that is just plain crazy! And as in all their games, pandemonium ensues, laughter mixed with shouts of pain. Often I wonder if this game is just an excuse for them to slam into each other, but then I remember that bodily injury is how my boys express love. There is so very much love in my home.
So this is my shout out to ye birds of wrath. I am sorry that you are so angry, but kudos to you for turning your outrage into amusement and a vehicle for togetherness. It is a rare and unique diversion that could have put such a sudden end to my love affair with Tetris. But shapes are two dimensional, while you, Angry Birds, are passionate, furious, and fierce. You teach us about ourselves. And you knock stuff over. Which I have come to understand is what love is all about.
Leave A Comment