Surprise!

Almost 30 years ago, and I still smile when I think of my 40th birthday party.

We never really celebrated my birthday ... at least not beyond the immediate family. On my special day, I was usually accorded my favorite meal—veal and noodles—with little fanfare.

At some point, my wife, Laura, decided number 40 was a big deal. And she was going to milk it for everything she could.

As it happened, my 40th birthday fell on Saturday. My good friend, Paul, had called me earlier in the week needing a fourth for golf, a pastime I heartily enjoyed but seldom had time to pursue. Reminding me that a bad day of golf beats a good day at work, Paul convinced me I needed some fun time. I agreed to meet Saturday morning.

When I told my wife, she reminded me of a shopping trip we had planned. I guess she noticed my face fell … and she relented. Or so I thought.

I had no idea that was Laura’s plan all the time. That minx just needed me out of the house to organize her fête.

As I left that morning, I thought about a quote I’d heard from journalist, Jim Bishop: “Golf is played by twenty million, mature American men whose wives think they are out having fun.” Paul and I enjoyed a perfect day of golf having lost only six balls between us.

We arrived back home late in the afternoon. I noticed a number of cars parked at our neighbors across the street and around the cul-de-sac. I remember wondering why we hadn’t been invited to their party. Inviting Paul in for a beer, we discussed the stories we would tell about our efforts to qualify for the next Master’s PGA tournament.

Personally, I think Mark Twain had it wrong when he said, “Golf is a good walk spoiled.” Even after walking 18 holes of golf, I was not tired walking to the door. Paul opened the door ahead of me—I was, of course, carrying my loaded bag of clubs.

Laura’s plan for my 40th birthday party was a notable exception to the old military maxim that “no plan survives contact with the enemy”. Assuming I was the ‘enemy', I had absolutely no idea what awaited me on the other side of my front door.

My first sight was a wheelchair. My first thought of that was ‘What happened?’ Then, ‘Who got hurt?’ At no time did I think that was to be my official chair for the next several hours.

After the initial shouts of “Surprise” and “Happy Birthday, Old Man” died down, I was ceremonially seated in the wheelchair still facing the door. Suddenly I heard movement behind me, a shuffling, if you will. Turning around and I saw no fewer than two dozen people, including my four kids, standing all over the great room about four feet apart, arms spread outward mimicking trees.

“You must navigate through the “forest” picking off a card attached to each person without running over anyone’s toes,” Laura said. She added ominously, “there will be severe consequences if you fail.”

I set off on my … uh, quest. I have to say this was a very hard thing to do – rolling a wheelchair through that forest. They did not make it easy, moving about. I’d bet it took more than 30 minutes to collect all the cards.

The rest of the party was a blur—a black cake with forty (count ‘em) candles, a six-pack of some great Oatmeal Stout, a package of Depends, a Belly Button Lint brush, a huge piece of bubble wrap (for stress relief), AND since folks know how I hate them, a wine stopper shaped like a dill pickle. And many other gifts….

To this day, almost 30 years later, the few birthdays I’ve celebrated since have never topped my 40th.

Thanks, Laura.

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