The End of an Era

My mother has always played this little game with us, around this time of year, that she used to play with her own mother. As winter thaws and one yearns for spring, we know it's time to keep our eyes peeled for that all-important sign that spring really is on its way... the first robin.

Upon seeing the first robin, one must stamp it to win. Lick your thumb, press it to the palm of the opposite hand, form a fist with the first hand (that you licked) and bang your marked palm with the fist. (This is usually followed by unsportsmanlike screaming along the lines of "AHA! I saw it! I saw it first! I win!" but that part isn't necessarily required :p).

My mother has won this game every single year of my life that I remember, with the exception of maybe one where my grandmother might've won. (I suspect, as my mother was growing up, that my grandmother always won. Must be a maternal thing).

Until this year.

At my parents a couple weeks ago, I was standing in the driveway on a bright, sunny Saturday morning. Not a cloud in the sky and a lovely 50-something degrees. Suddenly I felt it. I heard it. Birds chirping. I could sense that robins were about... somewhere.

I was determined to win this year. Enough of the dynasty! It was my turn! I was going to win! My senses were on full alert. The robin game was ending this weekend.

Went back inside. Did some stuff. Was getting ready to go out with my sister. Heard her scream from the front hallway. Ignored it. Finished getting ready and headed out to the main part of the house.

Turns out what I figured was a scream of frustration/annoyance was a scream of joy. Of victory.

My mother didn't win the Robin Game this year. But then, neither did I.

This year, victory went to my sister. Congratulations on bringing down the Robin Game monarchy.

Next year, however, will be mine.