When my son, Alistair, was a toddler, he wasn’t a fan of big gatherings. I had a sneaking feeling that I enjoyed his second birthday party more than he did, so afterwards, when my mother asked about it, I wrote . . .
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Dear Grandma,
Yesterday started off as the bestest day ever! Instead of insisting on Improving Activities or a Bracing Outdoor Walk, Mum actually let me watch two hours of Tintin DVDs while she “got a few things ready”? I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t even know the DVD player worked for two hours straight. I thought it automatically shut off “before brain rot sets in” (about ten minutes, if Mum is feeling chirpy, or twenty, if she has a cold or a flu).
Watching a whole Tintin episode twice in a row was so Improving and Bracing that I needed a three-hour nap to recover. Little did I know, when I awoke, the horrors that were in store for me.
I should have guessed something was up when mum kept incomprehensibly insisting that I put the toy cars I discovered “back in the box” because they were “prizes” for my “birthday friends.” Huh?! What’s a birthday? And anyways, the cars ARE my friends!!!!!
Well, the word “friend” should have put me on alert, because at four o’clock on the nose, the doorbell rang, and in they marched, one after another, led by Billy “It’s Mine-Mine-Mine” Baxter from next door.
I was sure Mum would defend us from these unwelcome intruders, but instead, she acted like the invasion was a welcome development.
“Happy birthday,” they all said. Was this some sort of code message, like in a spy operation, to see if I was friend or foe? I kept silent, figuring that an incorrect word could put me in mortal danger.
Mum may have had her suspicions too, beneath her cheery mask, because every time they offered me a package, she would snatch it away and put it in a cupboard, saying, firmly, “These are for later!” I kept my distance from the cupboard door and listened for explosions.
I suppose the afternoon was not without its distractions, in the form of pizza, iced carrot cake and candles. But as far as I’m concerned, a pleasure shared is pretty much a pleasure denied, and Billy was all over the sharing bit — especially when it came to sharing-with-him. (At one point, that urchin tried to physically yank my tricycle through the back door saying, “I’m taking it home!” I had an uneasy feeling that Mum was about to offer it up (and perhaps our seven-seater, parked out front, as well, while she was at it. People keep telling me that Mum is a lawyer, but her grasp of property rights is a bit shaky.) Happily, Billy’s Mum put a stop to it, using her, “You won’t get dessert” voice.
Thankfully, after the nineteenth time I said, “Bye bye, Harry,” his Mum got the hint and piped up, “Gotta go!” as if it was her brilliant idea. None of Mum’s efforts to persuade her to stay for more tea, a house tour, herb cuttings, etc. could deflect her from her overdue retreat.
So, now that the madness has subsided, I am pleased to report that life has returned to the state of peace and regularity to which I hope once again to become accustomed. And it turns out that “birthday presents” are toy trucks and books, not live explosives, so the anguish of the day has been partially compensated by a new red transporter and a truck book.
I am hoping that “birthdays” (whatever they are) don’t happen too often, but it sure would be great if the two-hour Tintin marathon became a regular feature of life. I am quite sure it made me stronger, smarter and sturdier. And a better speller. Just kidding. I, of course, ran this letter threw spill cheque.
I hope you are well and I can’t wait for you to come visit.
Warm regards,
Your Grandson,
Ally “Hands off my Trike” McLeod
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