As a kid, my family was never big on birthdays. Shoot, at the Grubb house it wasn’t at all uncommon to be sitting at the dinner table eating supper, when suddenly, as though hit on the back of the head, someone might announce, “Hey, isn’t today your birthday?” With that, the birthday boy would offer a toothy grin while the rest of us nodded “Happy Birthday” before returning to our Johnny Marzetti. As I remember, none of us ever had wrapped presents, candles on top of cake or a birthday party. I do remember on a few occasions Mom baked the birthday boy his favorite cake or pie, but that wasn’t a given—I mean, after all she worked night shift at the RBM and we understood how something as insignificant as a birthday might sneak up on her and leave her no time to do anything special.
Allow me to further defend my mom at this point in the story.
We brothers never felt deprived because our mom was a working mom. It was never a mystery whose sweat equity afforded the three brand new pairs of jeans and new tennis shoes we each received at the start of every school year. And, there was never any question about who funded the new suit each Grubb boy was given just before his first prom. Heck, we didn’t feel deprived because she worked outside the home. We never felt slighted that something as superfluous as a birthday party never made our social schedule. Years later, as grown men gathered around the same kitchen table, we honored her for her sacrifice and admitted our guilt—that it was for us she worked all day in our home and all night at the factory all those years.
Don’t get me wrong, each birthday boy kept careful track of the day that celebrated his birth, running to the mailbox in anxious anticipation of Grandma Grubb’s birthday card. It was doubly exciting knowing her card always included a crisp new one dollar bill. “Look out, Slater’s, here I come—one more AMT model car is about to hit my dresser top!”
Even this day, my memory can transport me to the very moment on the playground when my fourth grade classmate grabbed my shoulder, spun me toward him and shouted, “Hey, Grubby, you’re coming to my birthday party at the firehouse after school tomorrow, right?” My brain locked up…I couldn’t process what was he was describing. I mumbled, “Yea, I guess…wait…What?” He repeated my invitation over his shoulder as he ran off.
Later that night I listened with fascination as my parents explained how some families throw birthday parties for each of their children—every year! Inconceivable!
The following day after school I walked with Joe Bob to the firehouse in downtown Sugar Grove.
My first surprise was to see those glorious, gleaming behemoths parked outside. The sun glistened off their brilliant red paint, ricocheting like laser beams from voluminous chrome accents. Though I cowered in respect, still I couldn’t resist grazing my hand over the gold leaf lettering that graced the pumper’s door as I whispered to myself, “Berne Township Fire Department—wow!”
The next surprise greeted me as we entered. There in the middle of the truck bays sat a large table festooned with balloons and streamers, stacked with wrapped presents.
Recalling that day even now as I write this article, I realize it would have been easy, even natural, to have become jealous or pity myself as deprived. But those things never occurred to me. Again, I have to credit my upbringing. My parents lived by the same principle the Apostle Paul shared with the people in the little town of Phillipi thousands of year prior.
“…I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little.” Philippians 4:11-12 NLT
Instead of thoughts of jealousy or self-pity, I thought, “Gifts, ice cream, cake AND fire trucks!” It couldn’t get any better than this for a 9-year-old kid, and I was invited to be a part of it!
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.
Simple Faith Devo: Happy Birthday