Sarah R. Callender

Archive for May, 2014|Monthly archive page


In Parenting on May 8, 2014 at 6:24 am

An Open Letter to the Mother Crow That Attacked My Head Last Spring

Dear Ms. Crow,

Let me start by saying that I hope you and your family have had a blissful year. I am sure you have enjoyed the magnolia and cherry and lilac blossoms in this neighborhood, the neighborhood our two families happen to share. Though I suppose I should ask: Do pastel-hued flower blossoms (lacking the shiny, silvery hue of hair barrettes and orthodontia), hold a crow’s attention? I suppose it could be mere myth that crows are attracted to that which sparkles and glints in sunshine. After all, I was wearing nothing shiny–neither bling, nor barrettes, nor braces–on the day of The Attack.

Speaking of, do you recall the events of that May afternoon? It was 3:20 p.m. on a Thursday. I was hurrying north on 50th, between 68th and 70th, wearing my raspberry-red Eddie Bauer jacket, likely rushed because I am often late to collect my child from school. I remember the next details quite clearly: there you were, black feathers on a black telephone wire, and I smiled, making eye contact. Poor crow, I thought. I bet no one takes the time to smile at you. To really see you. To look past your symbolic-of-death exterior and understand that you, on the inside, are a living creature. Just as I am. 

Unfortunately, thirty seconds after I smiled at you, you attacked my head.

It being late May, I can only assume you were guarding your fledglings. Fine. It was perhaps my imposing height and immense biceps that suggested I was a serious threat. Never mind; that was sarcasm. You, clearly a good mother, simply wanted to protect your children. Plus, I would later learn (in post-Attack crow internet research) that your species views thoughtful, compassionate eye contact as a threat. I had no idea! Please know I was simply trying to brighten your day, not threaten your family.

To make matters worse, I now realize you were just a few weeks postpartum, and while I don’t presume to know anything about crow mothers, if your first weeks of motherhood were anything like my own, I understand why you found yourself attacking the innocent head of another.

You see? We two are not so dissimilar. In fact, other than the black feathers, talons, sharp beak and nasty CAW CAW thing you do that, especially after The Attack, makes my stomach knot up, we are exactly alike.

I, like you, have children whom I would protect to the death.

You don’t believe me? Just a few weeks ago, a little girl made fun of my daughter’s cheek mole. This little girl made a mean-voiced comment about the mole, then went further, commenting on the three hairs that poke from the mole. Worse, she did this in front of several other girls. The moment my daughter mentioned this story to me, I felt my face flush. My jaw tightened. My pulse raced. I had to fight every instinct not to fly over to that twerp’s house and snap her in two.

Why didn’t I? For starters, in the Human World there are laws that prohibit mothers from busting down the door of a little girl and snapping her in two. Plus, her mother scares me. Her mother’s friends scare me too. They all make me feel like I am right back in middle school. Do crows have middle school?

Anyway. There have been numerous other events where I have wanted to take down someone who messed with my child. The school principal. The boy who pushed my daughter off the bleachers. The former-friend who said my child, “was a little freaky.”

I know you understand my desire to protect my child from cruelty, because that’s what you were doing when you flew into my head, thwacking me with your God-only-knows-where-those-feathers-have-been wing.  We mothers love our babies in ways that are neither rational nor fully healthy. And that love, sometimes, makes us attempt (or at least consider) acts of violence.

Mrs. Crow, you are smart enough to read this letter. You are smart enough to make tools that help you do stuff. You are, apparently, smart enough to do science experiments.

crow scientist

Here you are, Sept. ’12, measuring scientific chemicals. I assume these days you work part-time for NASA.

I know you are smart enough to know that I am genuinely remorseful, that I am truly sorry I engaged in pre-Attack eye contact.

I am sorry that I scared you on that day, that somehow you thought I was tall enough to pluck your babies from that 100-foot pine tree. I might steal my friend, Steph’s, French bulldog puppy in the next week or so, but I can assure you, I would never steal a baby crow. Ick. Yuck.

I am sorry for the way I disparaged you, post-Attack, and felt the need to wash my hair three times, scrubbing really hard each time, in order to “get the crow out.”

I hope you can accept my apologies.

I also know you are smart enough to, even one year later, remember my face. Hence the reason for my letter. Soon, your 2014 babies will hatch, and while I no longer feel safe walking my former route to pick up my daughter at school, while I now look down at my feet whenever I hear the screech of you overhead, black-feathered tightrope walkers, I know late May through early June is a time where you might feel, for lack of a better word, a little looneytuney if someone walks in the vicinity of your fledglings.

I propose that we come to a simple understanding: I swear I will not bother your babies if you swear you will not divebomb me or any members of my family, including my mother, whom you have apparently made uncomfortable with your too-close flybys. I assume you see my face in hers, being that your kind is so “good with faces.” See? You are smart enough to engage in Mafia-esque terror tactics, knowing that the best way to get to me is by getting to my loved ones. Donna Crowleone.

But I hope we have a deal. I also hope that we can be, well, not friends per se, but that maybe we can coexist in harmony, two mothers in the same hood, women who respect the other’s passionate love for her children.

Feel free to respond via email or text or carrier pigeon as I eagerly anticipate your response. Regardless, I wish you all the best and trust you will have a lovely Seattle summer with your children. Perhaps I will see you at Zoo Tunes or a Mariners game. If you are not aware, the Mariners are miraculously (at the moment) over .500, and the stadium’s not far from our homes, at least as the crow flies.


A Seattle Mother