The Worst Thing About My Kids Growing Up Is They Don't Want to Go See Giant Colorful Pigeons With Me

Nobody warned me I would have to embark on pigeon pilgrimages without my children

When I told my kids we needed to schedule a trip to downtown Orlando to check out the giant colorful inflatable pigeons that had recently perched on various buildings around the city, I didn’t get the enthusiastic response I was hoping for.

“Why? They’re not even real.” My 10-year-old had a bit of tween exasperation in his voice that is not typical for him.

Through the years, I’ve spent a lot of time fretting about my children getting older and this is exactly why. Sure, there’s the whole loss of innocence bit, and the inexorable passage of time and the looming obsolescence and death for me thing, but what I was really afraid of was my children getting too old and jaded to want to go look at some gigantic inflatable pigeons!

They’re not even real? Of course, they’re not real! They are giant colorful inflatable pigeons!

If they were “real”—in the sense of alive and sentient which is what I assume my son meant—we’d be having an entirely different type of discussion. A discussion that would likely be much more panicked and focused on logistics like how to protect oneself against attack by giant sentient colorful pigeons. This is neither here nor there, but I’ve given it some thought and I’m guessing the best approach would be some modified type of duck-and-cover method. However, I’m also willing to entertain the possibility that running in a zigzag pattern while tossing whole hot dog buns in various directions might be a better option.

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Pigeons and I have a complicated history.

It all started several years ago at a conference for dad creators in San Antonio called Dad 2.0 when I decided to “confess” to my friend Shannon via text that I had once killed a pigeon in cold blood. Shannon was seated near the stage where a very heartfelt discussion was taking place about the importance of being emotionally vulnerable and sharing with your friends the parts of yourself you weren’t necessarily proud of.

I was seated near the back of the room in a shadowy corner so I took that opportunity to text Shannon that the discussion had moved me. That is, it moved me to open up at long last and confess that I was a pigeon murderer.

(Just to be clear because this is the internet and rumors can spread like pest populations when pigeons aren’t present to control them, I’m not a pigeon murderer. I made this story up because I’m weird and can’t stomach serious or emotional conversations of any flavor.)

I saw Shannon look down at his phone and then unsuccessfully attempt to stifle an audible laugh right when one of the men on stage was opening up about some personal trauma. The room was extremely quiet. Except for the man’s voice which was dripping with raw emotion. And Shannon’s giggle.

Fortunately, Shannon wasn’t kicked out of the conference, we went on to name our little dad writer friend group The Dead Pigeons, and the rest is history. I’ve kept this bit up for years, randomly texting my friends pigeon-related content at highly unpredictable intervals. Most recently, during our family trip to D.C., I sent a video of my oldest son chasing after a pigeon on the National Mall with the caption “carrying on the family legacy.”

So, yes, my relationship with pigeons is complicated. And increasingly, so is my relationship with my daughter who is 8 years old now. On one hand, I’m still her most reliable playmate when she decides she wants to play with dolls or some other confusing imaginative game. On the other hand, when I asked if she wanted to go with me to check out some giant inflatable pigeons, she said that I should “leave the house and never come back.”

That might seem like a bit of an overreaction, but honestly, I get it. I know as well as anyone that pigeons can inspire unexpected and borderline violent emotions.

Late Monday morning during the second week of school I gave up on my children and made the trek to downtown Orlando to find the pigeons. I stopped off at Wawa for gas and to grab a cheese panini with tomatoes, spinach, pickles, avocado, and garlic aioli. Is this level of detail about my lunch order necessary? Probably not, but I’m guessing I won’t have a whole lot to say about the giant inflatable pigeons so it’s important to build the tension.

I hopped on Semoran Boulevard, one of Orlando’s primary arteries, and cruised along in the center lane to avoid the right lane, which perpetually looks like it’s been shredded by a horror movie villain, and the left lane, where you have to maintain a cruising pace just below taking-flight-speed to avoid getting flattened.

After a scenic drive past some of my favorite local sights including 700 personal injury attorney billboards and several dilapidated shopping plazas which almost exclusively house smoke shops, I arrived at my destination on Orange Ave.

And just like that, there they were. IN ALL THEIR COLORFUL GLORY!

I apologize if the picture quality isn’t the best but I was a bit rushed because I was very worried strangers would notice me taking pictures with the pigeons and judge me silently. I also didn’t take the time to locate all of the pigeons (oh yes, there are more!) because, as my children would probably say, “If you’ve seen one giant colorful inflatable pigeon on a roof, you’ve seen them all.”

If you’re in the Orlando area, here’s a list I found of the pigeon perches:

• 30 South Orange Avenue

• Stagger Inn | 100 East Central Boulevard

• Wall Street Cantina | 19 North Orange Avenue

• Aero Rooftop Bar & Lounge | 60 North Orange Avenue

• Taco Kat | 11 South Court Street

• Casey’s on Central | 50 East Central Blvd Suite E

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Are the giant inflatable pigeons worth the effort?

Absolutely, yes!

That’s definitely what I’ll be telling my kids. Well, that’s what I’ll tell my kids if my daughter lets me back in the house sometime this year. They’re going to be so jealous.