North Star Writers Group

I’m not telling you that because I’m trolling for gifts. I’m just mentioning it because this will be number 67 for me, which makes it my most traumatic birthday ever.

“Bob,” my wife Sally said the other day, “don¹t be so childish about this. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just your 67th birthday for gosh sakes. Now come down off the roof and we’ll talk.”

The kids, especially our daughter Laurie, who is making my birthday cake this year, aren’t making number 67 any easier for me, either.

After volunteering to bake the cake, Laurie said, “And I’ll be sure to alert members of the fire department, too, so they’ll be ready when we light that sucker.”

Then, of course, there are the gifts I’ll get.

Over the years, I’ve received some really wonderful birthday gifts. And a few losers, too.

The worst birthday gift I ever received was given to me by Teddy Newberry, my best friend in elementary school.

Teddy was a gangly, quiet kid who was a whiz at playing marbles and other games of that era like Pom Pom Pullaway, Kick the Can and Flashlight Tag. Unfortunately, as good as he was at games, Teddy had the imagination of a rock.

I never realized it more than the year I turned 12 and my mother threw me a birthday party complete with cake and ice cream. She invited 12 of my friends and we had the party in the basement of my home.

When it came time to open my presents, I plucked one from the pile and saw Teddy’s name on it.

When I felt it in hopes of getting some kind of clue about what was inside, I discovered it was round. Right away I figured it was a ball and that was OK with me. But when I ripped into the package, I discovered Teddy hadn’t given me a ball. Teddy had given me an orange.

Now I don’t know how other kids might feel, but I for one never imagined getting an orange as a birthday gift. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to offer a polite “thank you” to Teddy and get on with the gift opening. Unfortunately, another part of me wanted to pummel the daylights out of him for giving me such a stupid gift.

I opted for the former, which pleased my mother, and quickly attacked the rest of the packages.

To make a much longer story considerably shorter, Teddy’s gift of an orange reigned as the worst birthday gift I ever received until a few years ago when Sally¹s mother Rose gave me gave me a belt made of walnut shells. I’d never had a belt made of walnut shells, but I managed to keep a straight face when I opened it until my daughter Jackie said, “That’s real nice, Dad, but I’d sure make a point to stay away from squirrels when I was wearing it.”

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