Birthdays

This year I had four birthday outings, two of which were to Cracker Barrel, my favorite restaurant; however, I enjoyed friends and family in every single thing we did.  Tonight, while sitting here contemplating words of appreciation, my mind rewinds as I try to think of each birthday I remember as extra special, and wish I had written a blog every year.

When I was ten I had surgery on my left eye, and on my birthday when I turned eleven I was going home.  Back in the day, you had to be admitted to the hospital for congenital cataract surgery.  Anyway, it was a small clinic  in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and I was there for ten days.  The hospital staff, patients, and some visitors of patients gave me a surprise party.  There was a beautiful cake with something that looked like sparkles on it, the first birthday cake I ever saw, and it was beautiful.  One man raised parakeets and brought me a blue one.  My physician gave me a charm bracelet.  Mama’s twin sister gave me a Peter Pan doll, and I can still remember exactly what he looked and felt like.  When I got home to Lexington, Daddy’s mom gave me a large party outside in her back yard. 

The unfortunate thing is that I didn’t know how to say “thank you” properly at eleven years old.  Now, sixty years later I still don’t know how to find words for such an outpouring of love, and wonder if they had any idea of how much it has meant to me through the years.  

There was a builder working on a house close by whose birthday was also the same date as mine.  He gave me a dollar every birthday for the next three years. 

I turned twenty-one while I was studying medical transcription at Duke University Hospital.  My friends then realized I often did not have enough money to go with them to movies or restaurants, so that year five friends gave me cards with ten dollars in each one. 

When turning forty, I acted like my life was over.  I sat around the swimming pool at Bill and Betty Taylor’s house, such giving and wonderful people.  I spent the afternoon grumbling about getting old.  I don’t know why Betty didn’t send me home.  She finally asked me what size bathing suit I was wearing; it was a 10.  That was so much sweeter than her just telling me to hush up. 

At the age of fifty my daughter and daughter-in-law took me to eat dinner at Applebee’s.  I ordered a salad because that size 10 bathing suit was ten years back.  My son was in Canada on business and he called me that night to ask me what I had learned in my half century age.  I told him the most important thing is what I learned at my grandmother’s knee at age two, Jesus loves me, this I know.

At age sixty-five I gave myself a party.  The house was full of my friends.  Dorsey, one of them, brought lasagna. My grandchildren spent a lot of time making me a birthday banner which I set up over my keyboard, the perfect decoration.  I don’t remember a cake, just the friends, the banner and the love! 

All birthdays in between have been special!  However, the special thing is not the one with the birthday, but those who care enough to remember.  As I glance over my shoulder through the years I wonder why it took me so long to realize this.  Of course it is not a brand new epiphany, just an enlightenment that I hope will cause me to remember, and to think more of my family and friends than myself.  So, if today is your birthday, from my heart to yours, I hope you receive the blessings of love as I have been able to experience through the years.  Have the most special birthday ever!