b-day 3

It is raining again. A single warm, sunny day and a second, warm, overcast day and the full moon is blotted out and the rain falls. Hard. Just like Monday, Will’s birthday.
My second son turned eleven at 4:30 Monday afternoon while I tossed and turned in the sick bed. After Allison brought the Motrin and I began to think again, I was able to hear them sing “Happy Birthday” and I made my way to the kitchen door to say it myself. Will said, “Thanks dad, I love you.” Later, he brought my gift to the bed; a pound of Sumatra and a 16 oz. thermos. O how I love Sumatra. Maduro caffé. Thanks, kid.
But what does Will get? Third in a line of three birthdays in eleven days. His day invaded by an ill dad, an all-day electrical storm, and a science fair project. All the while, he smiles and gives.
You’ve got the patience of Job, son. All your life, you’ve had to wait for the squeakier wheel to get the grease. Never demand, never cry.
Well, I know what I’m giving you next year for my birthday. I’m giving you my birthday. Next year, you get the first birthday of the year. You will turn twelve, eleven days early and I will turn forty-two, eleven days late. We both win. You can have your lemon marangue pie first and I’ll wait for my peanut butter meltaway cake.
Despite the fact that I involuntarily missed your birthday, I have done a lot of reflecting on it. I believe you’ve grown more this year than in any other single year, both physically and otherwise. You’ve learned so much about yourself and about everyone around you. Even I, the fighter of time, am excited to watch you continue to grow this next year. You’ll have to be quick because this year, you only have 354 days.
I just realized that I’ll have to give you two gifts next year. I’ll give you my birthday and then it will be your birthday, so you’ll have to give me a gift too. Then on your birthday it will be my birthday, so I’ll have to give you another gift. Sheez. That sounds like a thought sequence that you would have.
I’m sorry your birthday blog comes two days late. Early next year.