"Best Present Ever"

BEST PRESENT EVER

 

I have had some fine birthdays.

 

Fading photographs reveal me

At the dining room tables of my youth,

Ringed by grinning cake-eaters,

A stack of gifts heaped by a centerpiece candle.

 

In my teens, my birthdays became family affairs.

I stared solo into the camera,

Or my brother and sister posed at my shoulder

For the obligatory motherly Polaroid.

 

As an adult,

Even when I had begun to form a family of my own ,

I counted on my mother to ply me

With a “special meal” and a cherry cake,

No frosting.

 

But soon my children’s birthdays took precedence

Over my own,

As my father’s had done before me.

Cards and well-wishes still warmed my heart,

But the occasion itself lost its luster.

 

What’s funny to me now

Is the fact that I remember so few specific birthday gifts—

Except for the time that Larry gave me an entire case of Coca-Cola—

Or special events—

Such as a winter camping trip with Monte and Steve.

 

Mainly, I received clothing and books,

Practical things.

 

More than anything else,

I recall that my birthday signaled the return of the light—

The terminus of another winter

Resolving itself into hints of spring.

My birthday was about rebirth,

About opportunity,

About process,

Not just a single moment in time.

 

And it still is mostly that.

 

Only now it is also something more:

The acceptance of an invitation to birthday lunch;

Grilled cheese and tomato soup;

The aurora viewed from a frozen field;

Hiking up the Skyline Trail;

Midnight in Paris on a flat-screen TV;

Homer baked goods and beach walks;

Skiing in the sunshine on Center Ridge;

Adventure racing, and running at thirty below;

A mid-winter visit to Oklahoma,

And a homecoming.

 

As my birthday came ‘round again this year,

Everything seemed different.

Better.

 

Soon it will be the equinox again,

But I feel as if the light has been with me for a while.

 

I need no gift greater than that.