Hokey Pokey

The sheet cake my mother baked was decorated with chocolate frosting and colored sprinkles with glowing candles. The cake was next to the no-name brand of orange, cola and ginger ale soda bottles lined along the bar already opened with red and white striped paper straws that bobbed inside each bottle.

I was beaming with excitement. It was my 7th Birthday and I was having a party. My father and I decorated a folding metal chair with pink and blue twisted crepe paper streamers that wrapped around the legs and looped around the back of the chair, and streamers hung from the ceiling, doorways and the table for my presents.

We played kid games like London Bridges, Duck Duck Goose, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. The room was filled with little girl laughs and giggles. My favorite memory was when my father played Hokey Pokey on the piano. Looking back it was pure joy to put your right hand in and shake it all about. After the games and dancing it was time to open the gifts. My sister Norma Jean, kneeling down on the floor handed them to me.

Sitting on my decorated chair, all happy and enjoying being the center of attention, a rare occasion when you are the youngest of five children, I would hold up each gift for everyone to see. I was beaming. When Norma Jean handed me the last gift she said it was from her. When I unwrapped the gift I could see a nervous smile on Norma Jeans face. I opened the box and peeled back the white tissue paper and to my surprise in it lay one old dirty mitten. I wasn’t the least bit fazed by the gift. I thought Norma was just a kid too and wanted to hand me a gift from her and it certainly wasn’t unusual to find a lonesome mitten in our house, we never word matched mittens, I thought nothing of it.

When the party was over I remember my father being angry with Norma. He didn’t think it was very nice and she felt guilty for doing that to me. When we got older she shared with me that she was jealous because I was having a party and wrapped up the dirty mitten on purpose,

It was a glimpse into the real world and unfortunately more for my sister Norma Jean then for me. I was too busy thanking her for thinking of me, even though it was a dirty old mitten. My mother use to always say “it’s the thought that counts.”