Empty Nest Syndrome Is for the Birds

As a member of the 50+ demographic, I always admire other men my age who try something new they’ve always dreamed about doing but never got around to, whether that means picking up a musical instrument, learning a new language, or marrying a trophy wife.

So it’s no wonder I was impressed by the story of 58-year-old Williamsport, Pennsylvania native Tom Cillo, who this past September enrolled at nearby Lycoming College, not just to earn a degree, but also to try out for the school’s Division III football team.

Cillo took a maintenance job with the city right out of high school and never went to college, but he always held on to his dream of going back to school and also playing college football. He’d kept himself in good shape by running marathons and competing in powerlifting competitions, so once he retired, with his kids grown and out of the house and a pension burning a hole in his bank account, he decided to go for it.

Thankfully, Cillo appears to possess just what it takes to make a dream like this come true — a unique combination of drive, determination, and no one in his life to sit him down and tell him that he’s making a terrible mistake. In fact, according to one story I read, after expressing concern to his best friend Dave Bellomo about the risk of injury, Bellomo reportedly told him, “Don’t worry about the getting hurt part; you could get hurt in the shower.” This might seem like a flippant remark, but bear in mind that Bellomo routinely tries to attack Cillo while he’s showering.

Cillo’s story, for the most part, has lived up to its feel-good promise. He made the Lycoming team’s roster and got some playing time at nose tackle, albeit only on the junior varsity. But more importantly, the publicity he received led him to realize the ultimate dream for any athlete – more important than playing time, awards or even championships. Of course, I’m talking about endorsements. Cillo has inked a deal to become a paid spokesman for – this is true – Aspercreme pain reliever.

Birds Of A Feather?

Reading about Cillo led me to reflect on my own situation. With three kids in college, I’m also facing life as an empty nester. Well, one of my kids DOES still live at home while attending a nearby college. So I guess I’m a *mostly* empty nester except that one of the fledglings, rather than spreading his wings and flying off, decided, “Hey, this nest is actually pretty nice. No siblings around to compete with to get fed. Maybe I’ll just stick around for a while.” Having him at home is fine for the most part, although I don’t see why I still have to regurgitate all his food for him.

Also like Cillo, I have all four years of my college football eligibility left, so after reading his story I imagined the prospect of my own triumphant return to the gridiron. Except whenever I started fantasizing about breaking tackles and scoring touchdowns against kids less than half my age, the daydream would quickly transition, and all I could see were flashing lights while sirens blared in the background as a paramedic stood over me shouting, “Don’t you die on me, dammit!”

With this in mind, I’ve decided I’d rather not spend my waning years in a hospital bed watching a series of tubes carry fluids into and out of my body. That’s why, perhaps fittingly for an empty nester, I’m devoting my spare time and energy to a more sedate activity: trying to befriend the neighborhood crows.

You may have heard about this practice, or maybe seen videos — the basic idea is that you establish a routine of leaving food out for crows and over time they will become comfortable enough to eat in your presence, to take the food right out of your hand and maybe even… kill for you.

Ha! For the record I’m only joking about that last part, just in case any question arises over a future incident involving a suspicious pecking-related death.

I’ve written about crows’ intelligence before, in particular describing their uncanny ability to remember human faces and even to maintain grudges for generations against individual humans who cross them. So, yet another reason to get on my local crows’ good side.

Please Don’t Caw The Cops!

For Christmas I received a guide to crow care that, according to the cover, is part of the “Pet Owners Handbook” series. Except that I’m just looking to make friends with the crows – I’m not interested in making them my pets. This is good, it turns out, because interspersed among all the information about crow behaviors, habits, etc., the book mentions over and over again that adopting a crow as a pet is not only a bad idea, but also illegal in many places.

Reading these repeated admonitions, I wondered why the authors bothered to write the book at all. Instead of “Pet Owners Handbook,” perhaps the series containing this manual should instruct readers on other ways to break the law that also include multiple warnings about how you really shouldn’t be doing this. Just a few possible titles might include “Identity Theft for Fun & Profit,” “The Quick and Easy Guide to Robbing Convenience Stores,” and “Grow Rich Through Insurance Fraud.”

Anyway, following the book’s advice, we began leaving out unsalted peanuts in the shells for our local crows. As highly intelligent creatures, crows reportedly appreciate a challenge, so figuring out how to get at the nutmeat inside a shelled peanut provides them with a perfect diversion — at least until they can figure out how to do the Wordle.

It turns out, however, that an even greater challenge for the crows is acting promptly after the peanuts have been put out for them. That’s because peanuts are also a popular treat with that other prolific denizen of the suburban American landscape: squirrels.

I have observed that when members of the two species arrive at our feeding site at the same time, the crows tend to let the squirrels dine first. My guess is that these crows have lived in the suburbs long enough to do some basic calculations and are essentially saying to the squirrels, “OK, you can have dibs on these peanuts, but as soon as you run into the street and get flattened by an SUV, we will be first out there to peck at your squashed entrails.”

Looking To Get *My* Beak Wet

One of the reasons I hope befriending the crows goes well is based on reports I’ve seen of crows offering tokens of appreciation to their human benefactors, typically leaving behind small items like pieces of foil, bottle caps or coins. My interest was further piqued when I read that some crows have even been trained to make gifts of paper money they’ve obtained. However, the site I got this information from also included this disclaimer:

“If crows are trained to take money from public spaces, the person benefiting may face legal liability. Under New York state law, for instance, knowingly keeping lost money without attempting to return it can constitute theft, even if the crows are the ones retrieving it.”

I’m no expert in New York state law, but I like to imagine a person receiving a gift of a wad of cash in this manner demanding to know where the money came from and insisting that the crow return it if it belongs to someone. And then, when the crow invariably ignores the question in favor of noshing on peanuts, the person could shrug and say, “Well, at least I tried.”

In our household we’re not nearly at the point of achieving financial independence via gifts from our neighborhood crows. So far all I’ve received from them is imperious cawing when I step out the door if they feel I’ve taken too long to make with their daily allotment of peanuts.

But maybe I should be happy the crows are this nice to me. Because it could certainly be worse. Who knows, they might turn on me after growing tired of the same fare every day (“What, peanuts AGAIN?”) or deciding they’ve had it with the way I creepily peer through our garage door mail slot to watch them feed in the driveway.

With my luck, the crows would probably turn their anger on me to the point where paramedics have to come to my rescue. And I can imagine thinking to myself, as I lay there in the ambulance, bleeding profusely from the vicious pecking assault, “I should have taken my chances with football.”