The Birthday Cake

Keenan and his dad stood at the cake counter. He stood on tippy-toes, trying to see what the lady with the apron was doing to his birthday cake. They had ordered the cake a month before and Keenan was excited to see if they drew Ben10 on right.

He pulled on Keith’s jacket. What is she doing daddy? He signed.

She’s putting it into a nice big box so that we can bring it home for the party tomorrow. Keith signed back.

Keenan turned his attention back to the lady behind the counter.

“Alright! Would the birthday boy like to see his cake before I tie on the ribbon?”

Keith looked at his son. Keenan nodded excitedly. “Go on then Keenan.”

Keenan peered into the box, and his face lit up like a box of fireworks, a huge grin creeping across his face. Thank you! He signed. Thank you so much!

The lady looked puzzled. Keith explained to her that though Keenan could hear, he was born mute and that he was saying ‘thank you’. “Oh, well then, Thank You Keenan,” she said signing a ‘Thank You’ back to him.

Keenan grinned at her.

She neatly tied up the knot and passed the cake to Keith.

Keenan looked out the shop window as Keith paid for the cake. He saw a young boy, just about his age, looking at the cakes on display. His mom was standing beside him stroking his hair, as if apologizing for something. Curious, Keenan ran outside to see what the boy was looking at. He stood beside the boy for awhile and tapped him on the shoulder. What are you looking at? Which cake? He signed. The boy and his mom couldn’t understand. Keenan scratched his head. Wait, he mouthed out to the pair and ran back into the shop.

Keith felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down. “What is it Keenan?”

Come Daddy. Come with me.

Keith followed his son outside. He was puzzled. He looked from the woman and her son to his son. “What is it? What would you like me to do?” he said, keeping his eyes on the strangers. Keenan tugged on his dad’s sleeve. Help me ask this, he signed, and did a quick wave of fluid movements, a language that only his father understood.

“Um, Keenan is asking ‘Which cake are you looking at?’” Keith translated.

The boy was silent. His mother replied, “Oh, we were just admiring the beautiful cakes on display, my son and I.”

“I’m sorry. My son is the most curious little kitten you could find. He loves to ask questions.” Keith apologized. He felt another strong tug on his jacket. Is it his birthday? Is he gonna get a cake? Ask him daddy.

Keith translated the question.

The boy clung to his mother. “Well, Ray, are you gonna answer Keenan? Is it your birthday sweetie?”

He nodded. “He turns 8 tomorrow,” his mother continued, “but we decided not to get him a cake this year.”

“I see, well Keenan, does that answer your question?” Keith turned to look at his son.

Can he come to my party?

Keith asked.

“Well, would you like to go Ray? To your new friend’s party?” the woman turned to look at her son. He gave a quick nod and hid behind the skirt of his mother. “We’d be there,” she smiled, and Keith gave her the address.

“Well my dear boy, shall we go? My arm will drop off soon if we don’t get your huge cake back home and into the fridge.” Keith joked. Keenan nodded at his dad and turned to look at the boy, See you tomorrow!

“He said ‘See you tomorrow Ray’, and to you too ma’am.” Keith took his son’s hand and they walked down the street.



After a few blocks, Keith turned to look at his son. “Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

I saw them at the window daddy. I read Ray’s mummy’s lips. She said she was sorry that she couldn’t buy him a birthday cake, and they’d try to get one next time. But every kid deserves a birthday cake daddy. Keenan signed. Keith paused and knelt down on one knee in front of his son. “And why did you invite him to your birthday then? Shouldn’t we have just bought them a cake?”

Keenan scrunched his eyebrows. But then, he’d get a small one. He won’t be able to have a big cake like me. I want to share my birthday with Ray, because he has nothing, and I have everything.

Keith sighed, “But you can’t even speak Keenan. And that’s everything.”

Keenan smiled at his dad. That’s not true daddy, I can speak. He waved to Keith. I speak with my hands. But a birthday cake IS everything.

Keith stood up and ruffled his son’s hair. “You’re right son. I’m proud of ya,” they walked down the street, to deliver the huge cake home, home to the old torn down hostel where they lived.



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