Happy Birthday, Son

Son John ($ for short) received a silent birthday gift from me that he is not aware of. It was a sacrifice, too. A few days before his birthday, he came over for dinner. He got to choose the form of the meat – ground turkey burgers or ground turkey made into a pie. He opted for the meat pie, and we had a favorite vegetable that he wouldn’t prepare for himself, broccoli with Hollandaise sauce. His gift from me was not asking to take his photograph. I know he got a double dose of the non-photo gene, so we are blessed to have any pictures of him at all. He is passably photoGENEc; it’s just that the gene is a negative one.

Son’s gift to me was cutting my hair. He was making moves to leave when I begged him to curb my witchy mop. I know he would much rather have beaten a hasty retreat, but we went out on the deck for the barbering. I haven’t been to a hairdresser for over a year, ever since I asked who had given him such a good haircut. I reasoned that if he could do a good job on his own hair, surely he could trim the ends of mine. I should have given him a tip, shouldn’t I?

I was pleased with the result, knowing it saved me from being dissatisfied with my earrings. I would have needed a whole new wardrobe of longer ones to hang lower than the pesky hair.

I found photos taken when $ turned 5 and when he was 25, standing in the same spot in our dining room.