HAPPY BRITHDAY TO ME PART 1

The years keep rolling on, though occasionally I feel like they have rolled over me. I recently celebrated my 39th birthday–for the twentieth time. Listen, if it's good enough for Jack Benny, it's good enough for me. I decided to celebrate a day early accompanied by some of the youth from my church. While my peers at church are all jolly-good people, I wanted to hang out for one day with a group where our conversations would not include discussion about which medications we're taking for arthritis, who our cardiologists are, and if we're planning on being buried or cremated when the time comes.

Because of time constraints, we had to grab a quick bite right after services before leaving for the near-by college town to see a play. I had popped frozen pizzas into the oven during coffee hour so they would bake while everyone was having birthday cake. One of the nice things about teenagers is they see nothing wrong with having dessert BEFORE a meal rather than after. I feel I am quite enlighten on this point, not at all a prisoner to silly traditions of good nutrition. What I had never considered was that a "bite to eat" would become just that, a bite.


I was engaged in some pastoral duties during the coffee hour (mostly wearing a wig and dark glasses as I did my impression of Elvis). The pizza finished baking, so I took it out to cool just a minute. When I returned, some of the adults had cut up the pizza (how helpful, I thought) and were taking slices of warm pizza home with them (hey, wait, that's for the kids!) The result left each of the youth with a single slice of pizza, next to nothing especially for the bottomless pits that are the fourteen-year-old males of the species. I must say that the youngsters were quite gracious and did not complain at being treated like Oliver Twist (please, sir, may I have some more?) I was seething.



We drove to the theater, I concealing fairly well the one time I got lost on the way. We arrived in good time to see "The Pursuit of Happiness." It is a quite humorous play, but a touch racier than I had expected. There was no problem, however, as the teens were able to explain the racier parts to me.



Our next stop was a restaurant for dinner. We were greeted at the door by the staff who told us that the restaurant was temporarily closed for technical reasons. I speculated problems with the electricity. The youth suggested rats in the kitchen. With visions in my mind of an old Monty Python routine (ratatouille, rat sandwiches, rat stew, rat pudding), we went to a close-by Out Back for a dinner. (I hope everyone ate something they liked.) We traveled back to our home town for ice cream where I tried to pretend I didn't know two of them who were sharing a single ice cream cone, one eating the ice cream and the other eating the cone and the fudge topping. (That was their idea, not mine.) And those two complained that another of our group ate cotton-candy flavored ice cream with crushed butter fingers mixed in. (Personally, I can't eat blue food except blueberries and my grandmothers marble cake. Don't ask.)



I believe it was about this time that the thespians among us began discussing learning accents, and I stated, quite rightly, that since I was from the Midwest, I did not have an accent. Everyone else did. I was booed. We returned to the church carrying on an annoying conversation in an assortment of Valley Girl and Surfer Dude dialects, interspersed with my imitation Minnesotan (Yah, sure, you betcha) and some Massachusetts twang (that was for real, not put on.)

I had a wonderful time. I hope my friends did.

Next time, birthday cards and gifts.


May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.


Wayne