Birthday Wows and Woes
Dear Readers: This month I have a family reunion and will be aiding a friend having knee replacement surgery. Please allow me to take July “off” and re-print a column first published in 2008.
I’ll be back with a new column in August.
Actually, my very first memory is of my fourth birthday party. I remember Mama making a cake and several little friends gathering to play “Drop the Handkerchief ” and “London Bridge is Falling Down”. I guess there were presents, too, but at age 78 I only remember the games and cake.
Then, there was my tenth birthday when my best friend gave me a present that was probably the premise leading up to the “story” you are reading now…a green five-year diary which I began writing in that very night. If you’ve attended my speaking engagements, you know this diary was the first in a long succession of journals which have detailed my life and have provided the fodder for many of my columns.
Now, my 17th birthday was quite special as seen through the besotted eyes of “A Teenager in Love” as Dion described in song. Gary, my high school sweetheart, took me to Hot Springs. We walked along Central Avenue, peered inside the stately bath houses, and strolled the “Promenade” across from the Arlington Hotel before driving to the top of Hot Springs Mountain. He surprised me with a picnic and a small jewelry box. Inside was a gold bracelet with two hearts engraved Brenda and Gary. This was the epitome of “romance” for me. But it wasn’t over! Later we visited Lake Hamilton where he rented a paddle boat. Once, he got silly while attempting to sing “Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby,” before leaning over to kiss me. Suddenly, there was a loud thud and a definite BUMP. We had paddled into a rock formation at the lake’s edge. Some kiss, huh?
Here, we’ll fast forward to my sixtieth birthday—July 13, 2003. Dateline: La Grange, Texas. Usually, my husband would have a card and/or gift waiting on my placemat at the breakfast table. But on that morning the table was bare and he was reading the newspaper when I entered the room. I thought, “Oh well…it will appear later.” After breakfast, he asked, “Would you like to drive over to Austin with me today?”
“Sure!” I smiled. I got the picture! He’d planned something special for us. I hurried to shower and dress in an outfit much dressier than I would ordinarily wear. But, waiting at the back door, he was wearing the same jeans and tee-shirt he’d worn at breakfast, having added only his favorite cap. Regardless of difference in dress, we left for the city to spend my Special Day.
Freemon, never being one for casual conversation, had the radio tuned to KBUK and I was afraid to say anything for fear of letting on I was aware of his plans. Bless his heart! He had never done anything like this before—it was totally out of character---the preceding years had mellowed him.
Suddenly this sentiment came to a crashing halt when we exited the Freeway and he turned into the service area of Discount Tires. What was THIS? A ploy to throw me off track??
Believe me, he really pushed this ‘maneuver’ to the limit while, for the following two hours, I sat on a tire display, burning up from the heat, inhaling warm rubber and cigarette smoke and listening to mechanics shouting obscenities from the attached garage. Not exactly a “Happy Birthday Girl” was I.
By the time we left the place, I peaked at just under “11” on the “peeved-to-incensed” scale. No husband would put his wife through this insanity unless he had a very good reason. Could there be a surprise yet to come and he was just being extra careful to keep me unaware? Could there be a group of friends waiting at home and he was giving them time to arrive? That was it! A surprise party!” I had once commented I’d never had one. He remembered! After all, birthday No. 60 is a pretty important milestone.
As we entered the Interstate I began practicing my acting-surprised-reactions inside my head and a few facial expressions in the right side mirror of the car. But WHY did he have to put me through the tire place thing??
After a few minutes, he asked the telling question I’d been waiting for, “Are you getting hungry?” Ahhh…Here it comes! The party will be held in an Austin restaurant!
Former drama queen Brenda purred, “Well, I think I could eat something.”
He turned into the exit lane while suggesting, “Let’s stop at Burger King. We haven’t had a Whopper in awhile.”
“NO THANK YOU,” my voice too high and too evenly-toned, “I’ll wait!”
As we drove into the parking area beneath our house, I jumped out of the car and hurried up the back stairs. I threw my purse on the kitchen desk and headed to the office, slamming the door so hard the house shook on its steel supports. There, I began to write in my journal; writing has always been my source of fending off irritation and disappointment. Around 5 p.m., I noted a UPS truck slowing to a stop at the bridge that led to our front door. A man in brown shorts and shirt hurried along the side deck outside my window, a package under his arm. I heard the doorbell and Freemon getting up to answer it. I waited. After five minutes, I could stand it no longer and waltzed into the living room.
“I saw the UPS man. What did he deliver?”
Freemon bent down to pick up a shoe box beside his chair. “These! I ordered them from a catalogue. They’re thongs with spikes on the bottom. You wear them while walking around the lawn to aerate it.”
I marched back down the hall—puffs of smoke erupting from both ears. The phone rang and he called out, “It’s Melissa!” She’d called to say my card and gift would be a day late. On the other line, her father muttered a half-audible, “Uh-oh.”
He did try to make up for it the following day. He went to Walmart and bought me… ready for this?...a fancy new toaster-oven that he liked. By the way, those miracle aeration shoes were worn only once on our steep lot bordering the bluff. He tossed them after he slipped and almost fell 300 feet into the Colorado River below.
May I offer tips to all husbands out there? (1) ALWAYS remember her birthday (2) AVOID giving her something that you want and, most importantly, (3) NEVER, EVER give her a gift with an electrical cord attached.
Brenda Miles is an awardwinning columnist formerly of La Grange. She responds to comments sent to brenstar@att.net