A Secular Blessing: Some Thoughts on the Parrot Head Religion
With the news last week of the famous singer’s death, my earliest childhood question connected to Jimmy Buffett came to mind: Why is anyone searching for a salt shaker?
By college, I’d lost much of that youthful innocence. Some fraternity brothers and I ditched class and drove from Hickory, North Carolina to join the boozy revelers and see Buffett in Raleigh at the amphitheater known back then as Walnut Creek.
Walking into the show, I had a different question: What’s up with all these people wearing tacky tropical shirts and stuffed parrots on their heads? My buddy grinned, “Dude, don’t you know? They’re all Parrot Heads!” I had skipped class, but I was in for a different education that night.
Since college, I have spent my professional career studying religion. The word religion comes from the same Latin root as ligament; religion is something that binds people together again and again. The Buffett concert checked the boxes that often characterize a communal faith:
- Legendary, larger-than-life leader? Check.
- Pilgrimages to holy events? Check.
- Mind-altering rituals? Check.
- Common dress and accessories? Check.
- Shared body of music? Check-plus!
I saw people “wasted away again,” but it’s not all about alcohol either. “Parrot Heads in Paradise” is a non-profit organization with hundreds of national chapters. In Raleigh, the Parrot Heads raise money for causes like the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina and the Ronald McDonald House of Durham and Wake. Their motto is “party with a purpose!” Not sure that would work for marquee in front of a house of worship. But whether it involves a salt shaker or not, many of us are searching for meaning and community.
As far as a connection to a Higher Power in the midst of the mystery of suffering, Buffett’s lyric rings true and faithful to me: “Don’t try to explain it, just bow your head; breathe in, breathe out, move on.”
I never went to another Buffett show. I didn’t buy any Parrot Head gear. But I did have fun. Surely, the frozen concoction someone handed me in the parking lot helped. The Buffett faithful were friendly, kind and welcoming. They had established traditions, but were open to newcomers. Not bad advice for any worshipping community.
Toward the end of the show, I left my friends in search of a cheeseburger. As I made my way back across general admission, Buffett launched into the familiar chords of “Margaritaville” and the crowd roared with the ecstasy of devotion. Two sweaty strangers grabbed me in a bear hug:
“But I know, it’s nobody’s fault!”
I wouldn’t say this was paradise, but I have remembered those grace notes.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of “Little Big Moments,” a collection of mini-essays about parenting, and “Tigers, Mice & Strawberries: Poems.” Both titles are available most anywhere books are sold online. Taylor-Troutman lives in Chapel Hill where he serves as pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and occasionally stumbles upon the wondrous while in search of his next cup of coffee.
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