Surprise! Surprise!

Surprise! Surprise!

It’s November 20, 1962—my 18th birthday.

Mom was acting strange this morning.

“When will you be home?”

She never cares.

“Five fifteen. Why?”

“No reason.”

All day at work I wondered why she’d ask. At about 4 o’clock it hit me! A surprise birthday party. My mother never remembers my birthday now that I’m older, and I can’t imagine she would plan a surprise for me. But that’s all I could think of.

As I sputtered up our block in my 1954 Chevy, I noticed there were no cars parked in front of our house. Well, of course not! They parked down the block. I parked in our driveway and entered through the back door.

The house was too quiet.

I checked the main floor, including the closets. I checked upstairs. I checked the basement.

There’s nobody here.

I watched TV in my room for a bit and fell asleep. I woke up at 11:45 pm and went downstairs to raid the refrigerator.

I found leftover spaghetti and ate it cold. My mother came into the kitchen in her nightgown.

“Why are you up so late, Jackie?”

“No reason.”

She got the strangest look on her face. “Oh no! It’s your birthday! I always think it’s tomorrow.”

My mother never forgets my sisters’ exact birth dates.

She pulled a bagel from the breadbox and stuck a candle in it. Mom lit the candle and sang a cheesy version of Happy Birthday.

“Make a wish!”

I wish my mother would remember my birthday.

I blew out the candle. Mom went back to bed. I sat in the kitchen licking my wounds as the clock struck twelve.

Fast-forward: I never forget to call my children (and grandchildren) at the exact moment of their birth.

Birthdays are important.