This One's for Me

I write these columns for others – I think. But one day I’m going to read back through one of these columns and wish I had been more detailed. To be honest, I don’t always write exactly what I think about any particular topic or fully reveal how I feel about some of the experiences I’ve written about.

There are times when the column sort of has its own agenda, where it’s a bit more performance than biography. But there are memories I don’t want to only pay lip service to or paper over with humor. So this one’s for me.

The look on my daughter’s face when we sang happy birthday to her on her second birthday is an image I want to cherish forever.

Like with most birthdays we weren’t in an exotic location, or at a fancy restaurant, or with lots of people. The floors in the front two rooms of the house were being replaced and there were tarps and plastic covers on everything. All the furniture from the rooms being done was moved into open spaces in the house and it was an unmitigated disaster.

I’m making a point to describe the topsy turvy environment because that’s the opposite of how I want things when we’re celebrating something. It may or may not be true that having things in good order is more conducive to a relaxing time, but it’s certainly not necessary.

The contrast between the wreck of an environment and the brilliantly gleaming memory that came out of it is worth noting.

After we had dinner, when Mom put that strawberry shortcake in front of her, something magical happened. Everything else, the tarps, the dust, the errant furniture disappeared. The older boys lit the number 2 candle, turned off the lights, and my little lemon sunshine girl’s face was bathed in a golden glow that was more than candlelight.

When we started to sing happy birthday, I saw the happiest face I’ve ever seen. She sang happy birthday with everyone and smiled with such pure joy it can’t be put into words.

I could try and recreate this for the rest of my life and would never be able to. These sorts of experiences, where you unexpectedly see a shooting star can’t be crafted. I think they’re the sort of experiences Tolkien relied on to paint a picture of being around Elves in their secret forests in the Lord of the Rings books. Something of the experience remains afterward but the subtly and beauty of the actual experience are ineffable.

I doubt that anything I wrote here will paint a picture or adequately express the wonder of this moment. That’s ok. I told you at the beginning this one was for me.