David Thayer

A birthday. Hmm. The problem with birthdays is those childhood soirees where scores of little boys and girls brought presents, there was chocolate cake, there was buzz. Days of build up and speculation, major excitement, stomach aches, someone stung by a bee. For a kid, having a birthday just after Labor Day is a cruel hoax as the iorn gates of school slam closed behind you. Even the duck and cover drill, the promise of momentary chaos, did not assuage the loss of summertime, freedom, bare knuckle fighting, dodging motorists who park and throw open their car door in the hopes of impaling a flying kid.

Adult birthdays are boring. Take a fast tour of all the good and wonderful things you remember. Start with cake. Kids devour cake, they use their fingers, get their face covered in frosting. Sure, some adults do that. Most adults nibble because of Adkins or South Beach or North Pointe or because they suddenly realized that Ollie North and Chuck Colson are coming over to play. Put your face in the cake now and somebody’s going to call an ambulance.

No fights break out over cool toys. Can’t go wading in the inflatable pool. Cannot inflate said pool due to insufficient lung capacity. School’s in session. White linen suit hangs in closet as though Truman Capote was airlifted straight off the hangar. Noogies for the birthday boy.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 8th, 2005 at 10:39 am and is filed under Unsolicited. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.