I generally hate birthday parties—both those for me and those for others. What I hate most is the obligatory nature of them. You basically have a hostage situation with required spending, which can be awkward on both ends of that deal. You cross your fingers that you can control your facial expressions regardless the gift, or you have to watch the gift-opening, hoping yours doesn’t look underwhelming in light of the others. Everyone’s left to hope that they can mollify those negatives with cake or other highly-refined carbohydrates, but the best case scenario typically requires Stokholm syndrome.
That said, I have lived through a few exceptions.
My twelfth birthday party ended with a French toast eating contest, while my dad flung fresh slices from the stove all the way across the kitchen. We cheered and jeered as my buddies caught (or missed catching) slices, using only our plates. I think Sean won with 9 or 12 slices.
Then for my thirtieth birthday party, Crystal and I invited my family and parking team buddies to the park to play a game or two of touch football, grill some meat, and slam some cake. After some Sports Center-worthy touchdowns, we all decided we were too old for football but that we were glad to have learned that without anyone getting hurt. It was the best birthday party ever.
After seeing how much I utterly enjoyed that outing with my boys, my wife arranged a subsequent birthday party for me and my friends the way she would for one of her girl friends. She meant well. Knowing her heart, I thanked her for it; but dudes sitting around a table in a nice restaurant seemed a bit awkward. Guys didn’t know whether they should buy a gift. Only a small number of guys could sit by me, while everyone else had to sit out of ear shot of the stories being shared. We all had to rely on the server bringing the check to know when it was time to leave.
Trying to explain why her intentions failed, I relayed to Crystal a description of gender world views that I had recently heard. Loosely paraphrased: “See, chicks like face-to-face encounters. They don’t have to do anything to enjoy time together. Dudes like shoulder-to-shoulder situations, where we’re competing or exploring or putting something together.”
Friday night proved another one of those birthday party exceptions, as well as a continuation of the list of activities that can improve on a man’s birthday celebration. My buddy Greg’s family and the parking team worked together to throw him a surprise cookout and campout on the banks of Flat Creek (on the lower half of their farm). None of us knew all of what we were about to experience.
The 18 hours that ensued included all of the following:
• rinsing off summer sweat in a swimming hole
• grilling burgers while kids played in the mud or fished from the bank
• scrambling to erect tents with the soundtrack of distant thunder
• riding a Yamaha 50 in the woods after dusk, guided by flashlight
• lighting camp fires & stoking them bigger
• kids roasting marshmallows and somebody eating the chocolate meant for s’mores
• hand-fishing for minnows in the dark with submersible flashlights
• peeing in the woods, in the weeds, or downstream in the creek
• sharing stories while looking into orange & purple flames
• a series of “Well, I think I’m going to turn in,” and “See you in the morning!”
• tents filled with dads and their kids and/or grandkids
• sleeping next to gurgling water, serenaded by a bevy of happy creatures
• waking without an alarm clock
• riding in the back of a pickup
• eating a scrumptious country breakfast up at the farm house
• off-roading and river fording in a Jeep
• driving a farm truck (and my scraping MINI) on a double track gravel road
• flying in a powered paraglider and watching our buddies take turns in the air
• buzzing soybean & corn fields inches or feet above the rows
That would be no knock on any of the celebrations of his previous years. It’s definitely not an indictment on anyone’s intentions—just the serendipitous accumulation of indelible moments.
I answered Greg something along the lines of, “Yeah, any time you can have some adventure and get dirty with your boys is a good time.”
Even on a birthday.
H
What a mighty fine way of putting things. Thank you, Ryan George!