Well, there is goes…yet another birthday for me. I now have as many years under my belt as a
pair of 24-year old twins. I only wish I
had the energy and flexibility of a 24 year old! Now that I am older, I find the need to
celebrate slower. This year, my day fell
on a Wednesday, so I blocked off the entire week to celebrate. Dinner with the family on Sunday, an evening
at the local watering hole with friends on Wednesday, and a date on Saturday
night highlight a week of free lunches and well wishes from friends and family.
It got me thinking about some key birthdays from the past
that I shared with my firehouse family:
First, there was my 16th, when I was given a
shiny new Cairns Philadelphian helmet by my parents. It was a nice surprise. It was a Wednesday night, and it would be the
first fire company drill I would officially attend as a member. The Philly helmet was a huge upgrade from the
WWII style Fiberglas helmets usually issued to new junior firefighters. I am not sure if I ever really made the
choice to join the fire company, but when your father is the fire chief, and
your mom is the president of the ladies auxiliary, there are certain unspoken expectations!
The fire company played an interesting role on my 18th
birthday as well. It seems the members
conspired to have me “man up”. Much to
my surprise, they hired a local “dancer” to come deliver the happy birthday
message. She was quite a sight, and I
bet she was a hottie… yeah, maybe when she danced for my grandfather’s 18th
birthday!!
First, there was the embarrassment of being on the spot…
with an exotic dancer…in a room full of dudes… including my FATHER! Then there was the generation gap! She was sparkly and feathery from across the
room, but up close? YIKES! There were wrinkles on parts of her body that
I did not know could wrinkle, and the make-up caked in the chasms of her face
was fooling no one! She reeked of
whiskey and cigarettes, and her legs were rough, like a cheese grater, spotted
with scabs, chapped flakes of dead skin and stubble stiffer than horse
hair. Her make up looked nearly
clown-like. Not a Happy clown, either,
but the scary evil clown. When she
smiled, the gray roots of her real teeth contrasted the red lipstick that
somehow got on her teeth as well. Her
chest, thank God, stayed contained by the silky layers of her “outfit”, because
I am certain it could have like taking a beating from grapefruits tucked in the
toes of a pair of pantyhose.
She was nothing like the girls I had seen in the magazines
that were “hidden” in the drawer of the trophy case. She was old, and she was scary. My only consolation was knowledge that some
of the guys literally pissed their pants they were laughing so hard. I smiled (or maybe I was clenching my teeth),
and was a polite recipient of her suggestive gyrations that seemed to last for
HOURS! All I had to do was sit in the
chair and survive, yet I remember being weak and sweaty when it finally ended;
sweatier than she was! I was convinced I
was going to catch one of those diseases you get from loose women I learned all
about in health class in high school!
Then there was my 21st, which was a bit
depressing, because I went to a bar with the older firefighters and did not get
carded. I waited all those years to go
to a bar, and I didn’t get carded???
What a rip-off. Hell, last year,
I went to a club and was carded by a doorman with bar-code reader, which not
only read my license and calculated my age, but flashed it in big red numbers! “Thanks pal”, I thought, “That will impress
the ladies in line”.
After that, the birthdays just kept coming. Every year at the same time, another one
would fly by. I lost count, and now have
to do the math to calculate the answer to “How old are you?” Forty-eight, if you really need to know. Maybe one day, I will blog about THIS
birthday. However, I did not get a new
helmet (I like my salty off-white one), I didn’t even take my ID to the bar on
Wednesday (first name basis with the bartender), and unless tomorrow night’s
date goes way different than what I am expecting, I wont be egged on by my
buddies to “motorboat dem thangs”! Oh yeah, my dad wont be there, either!
Hey Mark, If you really want a new helmet for your 48th birthday I could get you a nice shiny one that says KUTZTOWN across the front. Then you could see how the other half of the county lives. Dont forget we soon will have a finished bunk room, we could reserve a bed for you!
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