Birthdays

At 58, I’ve obviously made a few trips around the sun. Yet, when I was recently asked to describe my most memorable birthday, I struggled to remember any of them. My thoughts went to elementary school, but then I realized that my only memory of those events was through my mother’s photo albums. I have no real recollection of those parties. Even my most recent birthdays are a blur.

My 50th was a large affair, with friends coming from long distances to help me celebrate. The kids were off at college; I can only remember where it was and a handful of the special guests. I’m unsure if I am intentionally blocking these memories or if this is just how life is for all of us. Without memories, it is as if these things didn’t even happen. Were these just meaningless events stitched together by the forgettable thread of the years? It can’t be that bad. Can it?

I finally settled on my 40th birthday celebration as a memorable moment. The best stories tend to be born of tragedy. If everything goes according to plan, then nothing sticks out. This happy event was to be a bash. We rented a 150-year-old dancehall for the occasion, complete with caterers, bartenders, and a band. The gentleman that we made the arrangements with might have been there when the place was originally constructed, but he seemed pretty with it when we booked the joint.

The first hint of a problem occurred when the caterers called to say that a wedding was taking place at the dancehall, and they couldn’t set up. Of course, the old man who ran the place didn’t carry a phone (or apparently write anything down). A frantic drive to the dancehall confirmed that they were indeed double-booked – and we had 200 people showing up in less than an hour.

It pays to have a supportive network of friends. Mine sprang into action. We quickly found a suitable space in a church not too far away, created some posterboard signs, recruited volunteers to redirect guests, and people pitched in to set up the shindig in its new home in record time. An hour after the party was scheduled to start, you couldn’t tell that this was not the plan all along.

I remember the friends that came, the toasts, and my kids serenading me. The poem my younger daughter wrote for me that night is one of the few possessions I truly cherish. I’m still not certain why the memories of my other birthdays have faded, but this is one that I will treasure forever.