By Lorry Myers
Even though it never worked, my husband liked to pretend his date of birth was just another day. He didn’t need cards and calendars to remind him about his February birthday.
That’s what he had me for.
“How about a big party?” I asked Randy, in regards to an upcoming milestone birthday. We could have friends and food with a few candles on the side? Or maybe a weekend away or a
night on the town?
How did he want to celebrate his big day?
Finally, Randy had all he could stand, he couldn’t stand anymore. “I am not a kid,” he announced, his finger pointing at his chest. “I want my birthday to be just another day.” Then, Randy made me promise there would be no party, no cake, and no candles.
The big party-pooper.
I left for work early on that birthday morning, I didn’t even say “Happy Birthday”. After all, wasn’t this supposed to be “just another day”? As I was leaving, the Birthday Boy was sitting in his recliner, hair sticking up, glasses crooked, wondering why his coffee pot suddenly didn’t work. Walking out, I held the door open for my daughter’s basketball team who were parked out front waiting for their signal. Each carried a cup of coffee and pranced into the house offering all those cups to Randy, telling him they heard his coffee pot didn’t work.
At nine o’clock, right on schedule, the florist arrived with a balloon tied down with red licorice, his favorite candy. The delivery wasn’t from me, but from the ladies at the flower shop, arranged and paid for in advance. The card said they were thinking of him and hoped he had an uneventful day.
Randy was shaking his head over the balloon when the doorbell rang again. There stood the City Park Director with two of Randy’s favorite ink pens wrapped with fancy paper. It wasn’t much, but after all, wasn’t it just another day? By the time the city worker left, my parents pulled up bringing more surprises for the Birthday Boy.
Again, right on time.
It just kept going from there. The mailman carried a pile of greetings from relatives and friends he hadn’t heard from in a while. It was only after the Chief of Police arrived, lights flashing, sirens wailing, that Randy realized it was not just another day. The Chief was serious as he handed my husband Post-It notes tied with a ribbon.
Randy loved him some Post-It notes.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.