EMERGENCE

I had a birthday just the other day. One of my boys calls it the Anniversary Of One’s Emergence From The Maternal Incubation Unit. That it was. I had been advised by my coffee group that I shouldn’t miss our 9:00 a.m. convergence. Someone had invested in a BD card and didn’t want either to throw it away or take it home. So I did my own due diligence, made a blueberry cobbler for the occasion, took some frozen yogurt and we had a celebration. There were probably 10 or 11 in attendance. 

Someone asked about the number and I confessed, there was a time when I preferred one number to another but that’s history. The rhetoric about, “It’s just a number.” starts out as a thin denial about age but then one year, probably different for different people, a birthday comes along and you realize, you really don’t care anymore. It really is just a number. If I could just run like I used to; not fast or far but actually hit stride and stretch out crossing 4 lanes at a stop light, any number would be great. 

I’ve had plenty but remember only a few. It must have been 1942 or ’43, I would have been turning 3 or 4. Any younger and I wouldn’t remember, any older and I’d have been too big. I had two aunts, Raydean and Betty Jean, in their early 20’s, both married to soldiers gone off to war. They took me for a walk; we lived in the city with sidewalks and drug stores. I was between them, each one holding one of my hands, swinging them in time as we sang a song. I don’t remember the song but I was able to chime in on the chorus. When we stepped down off a curb I picked up my feet and they swung me up and forward. Throwing my head back I could see them upside down, they were beautiful. Across the street at the other curb we did it again, stepping back up on the sidewalk, every block, all the way to the drug store. It had an old fashioned soda fountain with chrome levers and ivory handles. At the counter we sat on tall stools that spun around. We did that for a while, waiting for the soda jerk to bring us our scoop of vanilla ice cream with red, must have been strawberry topping. Between the spoon and a straw, I made a mess. They took turns dipping a napkin into ice water, washing all the dribbles off my face. We retraced, repeated our curb swinging trek over 6 or 7 blocks, back to our house on Tracy Street. I don’t know what I got in the way of presents or what kind of cake we ate but there must have been a celebration. At the time, I was the baby and the center of attention. 

In my coffee group I must be near the high-middle or lower-older of the age span; nobody under 60 if I judge age right. One friend wouldn’t leave it alone so I told him the number. I’ve a thing with numbers. I remember jersey numbers from my own playing days and of my favorite players, any sport. My number this birthday is the same as my first football jersey number my freshman year in high school. It was our first game and we wore white jerseys with blue numbers. Coach didn’t even look, just grabbed one off thee pile and threw it at me. When I pulled it over my head and shoulder pads the sleeves hung down well past my hands. I rolled them up but they wouldn’t stay up. At 115 lbs. a freshman lineman doesn’t get to play in the game but you do get to line up in the pre game exercises and do tackling drills. 

#78 - my first football number and my current age number. The blueberry cobbler was a hit and I had some left over to bring home. It was so rich I was on a sugar buzz all day. Blueberries are really good for you, full of antioxidants and vitamins but they don’t change color on the way through the maze. If you don’t pay attention it might go unnoticed but I notice. I think it’s going to be a good year but years unfold a day at a time. It’s a good day today and I'll take it.