Three Months From Now

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Pop didn’t want a big party for his 90th birthday, but he got one anyway. He had a good time, too. Now his eldest daughter is planning another big bash for his 95th birthday, three months from now. She doesn’t intend for it to be a surprise party, but she’s reluctant to mention it to him. “Hold off until the end of the month,” I told her. By then, he’ll have healed from his fall. He fell yesterday, too, but it wasn’t a serious fall. The man’s always been in too much of a hurry to get wherever he’s headed. Back when I was a kid, and grandma was still alive, and we three went out to eat, Pop was always in a hurry to get from the car to the restaurant, and then, afterward, from the restaurant back to the car. Like it was a race. Grandma, though, she always took her time. If there was ever any need to hurry, I wasn’t aware of it. That said, back then, I was largely oblivious to everything, and obliviousness is more blissful than ignorance. Anyway, if Pop’s sick or hurting now, he won’t be receptive to the idea of a party—even if it’s three years away. Ask him how he’s feeling today, and he’ll kvetch about the stomach ache he had a week ago. Truth is, he’s had a bumpy ride, health-wise, these past few months. Bottom line, he’d be satisfied with a birthday bowl of matzo ball soup and a slice of noodle kugel from Ada’s Deli. Don’t get me wrong, Pop can be very sociable. Only he’s more likely to accept an invitation from a relative stranger, than one from a close relative. Or so it seems. 

22 March 2007

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