When Birthdays turn into Birth-DAZE!
April 9th 2008 07:13
Well, it comes with age and an ever dwindling group of close, 'real' friends, and the knowledge that you are one step closer to the gaping grave! When that birthday came along, when we were young, it was anticipated with some excitement, well, for a lot of us, some not so much. My trouble was, my family was far from affluent in the early days (and through misfortune has now returned to that level!!), so I used to dream of what I wanted, of things much grander, than I would ever dare ask for.
In fact, I have always had a problem in that area. From early days I knew what was possible and what was not. We grew most of our vegetables in our backyard. We had a lemon tree, orange tree, mandarin tree, almond tree, plum tree, nectarine tree and assorted veggies. Oh, and a bottle brush tree, that got festooned with honey bees in summer, which made passing it a little treacherous!
The backyard may sound huge, with all those trees, but no, it was just an average block, yet by today's standards I guess people would see it as big.
So the approaching birthday was full of emotional roller coasters; the thrills of silently wishing, ogling that amazing fire engine with the high extension ladder, siren and flashing lights, but knowing it was in the too expensive range. Oh dear, the inner desolation of second choice, you always knew to agree to the cheaper version, no matter what it was.
"What do you want for your birthday Foggy?"
"Ummm...(voice now very quietly mumbled, chin lowered to chest, eyes downcast, throat closing to strangulation point)...I don't mind."
That was always greeted with various attempts to solicit some response, in ever heightening frustration. I was particularly difficult, as I took the instruction of my fear inspiring ‘victorian’grandmother, “Children are seen, and not heard!”
Of course, one learned the art of giving hints from ones siblings, starting a couple of weeks before the grand day of embarrassment. But the hints often went unnoticed, because your mother was not concentrating on planning for your birthday at the time, but on getting the dinner ready for that evening.
I now feel sorry for my mum, five kids in nine years, lost the sixth, an incredible artist, considered a pioneer of an art form, largely ignored in her own country, and there she was, slaving away all day trying to keep things in some state of order, and we all feared dad.
He wasn't mean, he was tough, straight shooting and took no nonsense from anyone, and he still suffered horribly from his days of WW2, he joined when 17, lying about his age as many did back then, and he was sent straight to the front in the desert, then into the jungles of Papua New Guinea, fighting the Japs with our pals the Yanks.
So, I trod warily in those days; older brothers who used threats and torture, as a control and bribe method, older sisters who used more cunning, guile and psychological methods, to achieve the same result. All I had were eyes and ears, and a threat to "tell mum!"
I did get some nice things however; I am not trying to suggest it was all socks and string balls!
I did get a fire engine, eventually, and on the second week, my neighbour and I decided to see whether its siren would work under water, they had a small backyard pool...
Actually, before its demise, the siren often used to trick my mother. I would tie the engine to my bike, and ride around the house on the outside path; mother would come rushing out yelling, "What is it? Is it the fire brigade?" Then she would see me giggling, or sometimes staring in disbelief. Hearing a siren was so novel in those days, nearly everyone would stick their head out the window to see.
I will never forget receiving my first bicycle, a racy rich red.
Father: "It'll be fine, I promise I won't let go! NOW COME ON!" Poor dad, I think he suffered post traumatic stress syndrome, he often tried to be kindly, but got testy quickly, if you proved difficult.
On I gingerly clambered, as dad held the rear of the seat, a moments wobbling pause, “Now, push the peddles hard!” dad instructed as he pushed from the rear of the seat, and away we went...well...I thought "WE" did!! However, the reality was, as I got to the front gate, I had to turn right, so I looked back to make sure dad was ready...he had stayed at the start.
I immediately fell into the large bush beside the gate. Scratches, tears, testy little whimpering protests, “You said you’d hold on!”, and all amid brothers laughing and calling out, “Don’t be a drip!” “Cry baby!” Dad would not stand for insults or jeering, well too much of it anyway. Initially he laughed too, who wouldn’t? For I was riding perfectly, until I saw he wasn’t holding me up!
In short time, I was blasting out the front gate, boxer dog barking madly and trying to attack the rubber pedal grips, usually ripping my shoes off, she never hurt you, she knew how to grab safely, but it was very annoying and terrifying when you were riding on asphalt. Sometimes she was so determined to hang on, you tried to strat peddling with her holding one pedal in her mouth, so you had to fight her neck strength as well as the normal bicycle weight. I have well shaped legs to this day.
Scraped knees, filled with tiny specs of gravel, hell they hurt! But soon, you were off again, blood pooling down the leg into the socks, as you laughed and jeered with your friend, riding down the street.
Birthdays! The dinner! The cake! The candles and trying to blow them out, and NEVER succeeding, but always covering the icing with a fine spittle spray. Then the most embarrassing moment, the birthday song!
Maybe it was different in your experience, but, when I looked across our dinner table at the assembled birthday choristers, and saw the eyes of brothers reflecting their secret glint of sarcasm, the eyes of sisters looking bored and maybe a little jealous because you got a chocolate cake this time, and all sounding so awfully atonal together, except father, he had a rich baritone voice, somehow the combination made one feel uneasy, kind of like the calm before the storm, as you wondered which of your presents your older brothers coveted and intended to take, or break.
If it is your birthday today, at last, we have something in common!
cheers to one and all.
In fact, I have always had a problem in that area. From early days I knew what was possible and what was not. We grew most of our vegetables in our backyard. We had a lemon tree, orange tree, mandarin tree, almond tree, plum tree, nectarine tree and assorted veggies. Oh, and a bottle brush tree, that got festooned with honey bees in summer, which made passing it a little treacherous!
The backyard may sound huge, with all those trees, but no, it was just an average block, yet by today's standards I guess people would see it as big.
So the approaching birthday was full of emotional roller coasters; the thrills of silently wishing, ogling that amazing fire engine with the high extension ladder, siren and flashing lights, but knowing it was in the too expensive range. Oh dear, the inner desolation of second choice, you always knew to agree to the cheaper version, no matter what it was.
"What do you want for your birthday Foggy?"
"Ummm...(voice now very quietly mumbled, chin lowered to chest, eyes downcast, throat closing to strangulation point)...I don't mind."
That was always greeted with various attempts to solicit some response, in ever heightening frustration. I was particularly difficult, as I took the instruction of my fear inspiring ‘victorian’grandmother, “Children are seen, and not heard!”
Of course, one learned the art of giving hints from ones siblings, starting a couple of weeks before the grand day of embarrassment. But the hints often went unnoticed, because your mother was not concentrating on planning for your birthday at the time, but on getting the dinner ready for that evening.
I now feel sorry for my mum, five kids in nine years, lost the sixth, an incredible artist, considered a pioneer of an art form, largely ignored in her own country, and there she was, slaving away all day trying to keep things in some state of order, and we all feared dad.
He wasn't mean, he was tough, straight shooting and took no nonsense from anyone, and he still suffered horribly from his days of WW2, he joined when 17, lying about his age as many did back then, and he was sent straight to the front in the desert, then into the jungles of Papua New Guinea, fighting the Japs with our pals the Yanks.
So, I trod warily in those days; older brothers who used threats and torture, as a control and bribe method, older sisters who used more cunning, guile and psychological methods, to achieve the same result. All I had were eyes and ears, and a threat to "tell mum!"
I did get some nice things however; I am not trying to suggest it was all socks and string balls!
I did get a fire engine, eventually, and on the second week, my neighbour and I decided to see whether its siren would work under water, they had a small backyard pool...
Actually, before its demise, the siren often used to trick my mother. I would tie the engine to my bike, and ride around the house on the outside path; mother would come rushing out yelling, "What is it? Is it the fire brigade?" Then she would see me giggling, or sometimes staring in disbelief. Hearing a siren was so novel in those days, nearly everyone would stick their head out the window to see.
I will never forget receiving my first bicycle, a racy rich red.
Father: "It'll be fine, I promise I won't let go! NOW COME ON!" Poor dad, I think he suffered post traumatic stress syndrome, he often tried to be kindly, but got testy quickly, if you proved difficult.
On I gingerly clambered, as dad held the rear of the seat, a moments wobbling pause, “Now, push the peddles hard!” dad instructed as he pushed from the rear of the seat, and away we went...well...I thought "WE" did!! However, the reality was, as I got to the front gate, I had to turn right, so I looked back to make sure dad was ready...he had stayed at the start.
I immediately fell into the large bush beside the gate. Scratches, tears, testy little whimpering protests, “You said you’d hold on!”, and all amid brothers laughing and calling out, “Don’t be a drip!” “Cry baby!” Dad would not stand for insults or jeering, well too much of it anyway. Initially he laughed too, who wouldn’t? For I was riding perfectly, until I saw he wasn’t holding me up!
In short time, I was blasting out the front gate, boxer dog barking madly and trying to attack the rubber pedal grips, usually ripping my shoes off, she never hurt you, she knew how to grab safely, but it was very annoying and terrifying when you were riding on asphalt. Sometimes she was so determined to hang on, you tried to strat peddling with her holding one pedal in her mouth, so you had to fight her neck strength as well as the normal bicycle weight. I have well shaped legs to this day.
Scraped knees, filled with tiny specs of gravel, hell they hurt! But soon, you were off again, blood pooling down the leg into the socks, as you laughed and jeered with your friend, riding down the street.
Birthdays! The dinner! The cake! The candles and trying to blow them out, and NEVER succeeding, but always covering the icing with a fine spittle spray. Then the most embarrassing moment, the birthday song!
Maybe it was different in your experience, but, when I looked across our dinner table at the assembled birthday choristers, and saw the eyes of brothers reflecting their secret glint of sarcasm, the eyes of sisters looking bored and maybe a little jealous because you got a chocolate cake this time, and all sounding so awfully atonal together, except father, he had a rich baritone voice, somehow the combination made one feel uneasy, kind of like the calm before the storm, as you wondered which of your presents your older brothers coveted and intended to take, or break.
If it is your birthday today, at last, we have something in common!
cheers to one and all.
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Comment by Michaelie
Flick Wit
Hope you don't fall into any bushes this year!
Michaelie
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
Noo, well, not yet at least!
there's always a chance, with five hours to go!!
cheers
fog
Comment by tlcorbin
Raven
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
hehe, yes I know what you mean, only I am still at the stage of...damn..another day to drag my sorry arse through!
cheers
fog
Comment by Winston
Small Thoughts on Big Questions
I don't pay much attention to my birthday anymore, it seems to have gotten less exciting. Still, I'm glad that I keep having them, as it beats the alternative.
Comment by Louie
randomthoughts
Phil's Wellness Tips
Hope you got lots of pressies this year ;-
Comment by Nomad
Awesome Food
Nomad
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
thanks mate...and keep on typing!!!
cheers
fog
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
well...pressies are fairly thin on the ground around my birthday!
Actually, all I wanted, or expected, was a phone call from the few friends I have, and siblings, or cards, but, very short there too I am afraid...such is life!
cheers
fog
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
thanks so much for the birthday greeting!
And, yes you know the boxer well...did you have one? Once one has a boxer, no other medium size dog matches up, even with the slobber! hehe!
cheers mate
fog
Comment by Nomad
Awesome Food
Nomad
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
cheers
fog