After doing this every single week for over a year, our choices have become more and more limited. This is not just because of the cost, but the size of our crowd and the reputation
But if you remember, the family of 6 kids have proliferated to include a lot of people, and hence, a lot of birthdays. Dad came up with the brilliant idea of celebrating all the birthdays of each month on one day. In February, we have 4 birthdays, and decided to celebrate on the 26th. For the shortest month of the year, we sure pack in a lot. I guess quite a few people like to celebrate the end of the school year...
This year, my birthday fell on a Sunday, so Sam took me out they day before to celebrate. I cannot remember the last time we spent an afternoon exclusively together. It's not that we don't have a plethora of people willing to watch our kids while we go out; we just feel that weekends are the only real time Sam gets to spend time with them so we like to maximize that time with them. After a great day without a single fight (worthy of a call to the Vatican if you know me), we went to pick up the kids from my parents' house. Dad pulled me aside and asked to take my little family out the next day (12th). I was confused, and reminded him of the planned get-together on the 26th, but he insisted that this year, he wanted to celebrate with each of his children on their actual birthday.
My Dad is old school. I have always known that he loves all of us. What I only learned in the last few years is that he has the same obsession with his kids that I have with my own. This was quite the revelation to me, because we were raised with "tough love" from the old country. When he was a young father, he had to fight the urge to shower his children with affection, in accordance with the cultural practice of not overtly expressing your love to your children lest they become spoiled. But now that he's a grandfather, all that blissfully goes out the window.
So this year, Dad pledged to spend each of his children's birthday with them. I was touched, but still confused, and he must have noticed or was wanting to share his reasons with me: he does not believe he will be with us for much longer.
Dad is 72 years old. I stubbornly see him as a very strong and healthy man, not looking anywhere near his age, and definitely nowhere near that next phase that I cannot grasp right now, or ever. He still loves to fish, does almost all the housework, and gives the grandchildren rides on his back. He chases Ethan around the house, hides around the corner, and allows Ethan to use him as a punching bag. He takes my mother everywhere, and will drop whatever he is doing the minute one of us asks him to come over. He seems so much younger than his 72 years. But, he is unquestionably aging. When I was 10 years old, I begged God to not take my parents away until I was at least 20 years old, an age I felt old and mature enough to handle such a tremendous loss. I am 39, and cannot even fathom the horrible day I will have to face this.
I don't know what made my Dad make that morbid prediction, but I do hope that I am making the most of every day I have with him. I have had to help too many friends bury at least one of their parents, and although I know I will join ranks with them one day, I hope to put it off for as long as possible. I hope that when that horrible day comes, I can still smile through my torrent of tears, and hope Dad will always know what he means to me. Because I intend to let him know every day.
