FAMILY | MEMOIR | LIFE CELEBRATIONS

The Ill-Timed Surprise Birthday Party

My dad definitely caught my mom off guard that year

Eight friends and family members packed into the tiny cond

o living room like sardines ready to pop out when my mom, inching her way in her walker, emerged — unbeknownst to her we were celebrating her 89th birthday.

Clutching a pink balloon, Lisa, my sister-in-law, leaned over to me and asked “Should we yell ‘Surprise’ or ‘Happy Birthday?’ ’’

“Oh, definitely ‘Happy Birthday!’ ’’ I said confidently

The front bars of the walker and then my mom’s hands clutching could be seen then…

“Happy Birthday!” everyone yelled.

“Surprise!” of course, came incorrectly thundering out of my mouth.

My mom was more than surprised — stunned and overwhelmed — smiling widely and jumping into stories for the nearest ear to hear.

It reminded me of another time we had a surprise birthday party for my mom, a long time ago.

It was 1981, Ronald Reagon was president, Raiders of the Lost Ark just opened, and I was 14 years old. We lived in Murray, Kentucky where my dad was the vice president of academic affairs at Murray State University.

My mom had just run to Big John’s Grocery, and my dad took advantage to share some rather exciting news with my brother Scot and me.

“Hey, guys, I have a little surprise lined up for your mother on Saturday night,” he started out enthusiastically. “Don’t say anything to her, but we are going to have a surprise birthday party for her. I have invited about 30 people, so please keep it hush-hush.”

My brother Scot and I looked at each like we had seen an alien, nodded, and then in unison said, “OK, Dad.”

“Thanks, guys,” he said, beaming with pride. “Boy, I am really going to fool your mother this time.”

You sure are, I thought.

And he sauntered off to the garage.

“Yeah especially since it is a month before her birthday,” I said to Scot after the garage door shut.

My mom’s birthday is June 26.

My dad had the surprise festivities all lined up for May 26.

Houston, we have a problem.

As a university vice president, author of numerous books, and someone who had a master’s degree in political affairs, my dad was highly intelligent.

In the back of my head, I kept thinking there has to be some logical reasoning behind this month-early thing.

“Do we tell him her birthday isn’t until June?” Scot asked me in a concerned voice.

Before I answered Scot, a few scenarios played out in my head.

If Dad had goofed, how would he inform the 30 guests he screwed up and mistaken the wrong birthday month of his wife of 15 years?

It’d make him look like a buffoon.

He’d feel worst than Wile E. Coyote’s feeble attempts to trap the Road Runner. This definitely felt like dynamite ready to blow up in the wrong location.

Scot and I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place with no right way out.

“Nah,” I told Scot. “I say we just roll with it. Trust he knows what the Hell he is doing. No one questioned Benjamin Franklin when he was flying a key on a kite during a thunderstorm.”

“But this could be some embarrassing for him,” Scot pointed out.

“He already invited everyone, so I think we are past that point,” I argued. “He can’t just call everyone and say ‘Sorry, folks the surprise birthday party is off, I fucked up. See you next month instead. I guess I don’t know my own wife’s birthday. Those damn Mayans and their calendars. We also celebrate Christmas in November and go trick or treating in September. Thanks for understanding.’ ’’

“Good point,” Scot said. “Mum’s the word.”

“Regardless, it should make for the wackiest surprise birthday party. Ever!” I laughed.

As the calendar flipped to May 26, my dad planned a dinner date with my mom to get her out of the house that night.

Around 7:30 p.m. the first party guests started trickling in. Slowly more and more professors and their wives, neighbors, and those from the drama and English department quietly crept into the living room and were handed an inflated pink balloon.

Eight p.m. was the estimated arrival.

It came and went.

Finally, at 8:19 p.m., we saw the headlights and heard the engine of the maroon station wagon pull into our London Drive address.

“Someone must be having a party a few houses down,” my mom said to my dad as he pushed on the emergency break.

My dad looked down the street and paused for an exaggerated amount of time, then rubbed his fingers on his chin, and finally said, “Why yes, it does appear there are some party-like festivities going on this evening in our quiet neighborhood. Whom did you think it could be?”

My mom looked at my dad like he was nuts.

“I don't know, Sherlock, did you want to stroll down the block with your magnifying glass and try to solve the mystery,” and laughed at her own sarcastic joke.

“You always appreciate my good-natured humor, Charlene,” my dad said and leaned in and kissed her on the lips. “Let’s go see if the kids want to watch The Love Boat and Fantasy Island with us.”

And if we weren’t galavanting around at the ice rink, movie theater, or local pizza parlor, we usually did.

Back inside, drama director Rodney Davis was assigning the choreography, positioning everyone in “the perfect location” and even showing them the proper way to pop out — gleefully — and yell “Surprise!” with the best enunciation and most effective facial expression.

It was set to be the perfect surprise party.

In more ways than one.

Nancy Perkins peeked out the window and announced in a loud whisper, “They’re walking up the driveway. Shhh!”

Then Rodney took charge again.

“Ok, folks remember, when the door starts to creak open, I will count down ‘three, two, one’ then we will all yell ‘Happy Birthday.’ Get in your places.

We stood still as statues.

The keys started to jingle jangle in the door.

And the door made the most ever so faint creeeeeeeeaak noise.

And Rodney dove into director's mood one final time.

“OK, three, two one…”

“Happy — surprise — birthday!”

Half yelled “Surprise!” and the other half “Happy Birthday!”

My mom jumped back in shock as her eyes nearly popped out.

My dad’s hearty, Santa Claus belly-like laugh — ho ho ho — could be heard behind her.

A smile emerged from my mom’s face as she figure out what was going on, then looked at her captivated audience.

And took center stage like an actress on Broadway.

“This is quite surprising indeed,” she announced in her best acting voice. “Especially since my birthday isn’t until next month.”

And the whole living room full of guests erupted in laughter.

She then looked over at my dad, still smiling from ear to ear.

He had a devilish grin and kissed her again.

“Now how fooled would you have been if I tried to pull this off on the actual day of your birthday?”

And he winked over at Scot and me.

It’s been 43 years since that June, er, May birthday night, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.

The fact my dad threw it a month-early surprise birthday was genius. Brilliant. There was no way she was going to figure it out.

He could do all his planning, cleaning, shopping, and ordering the cake, and she would think nothing of it since her birthday was still more than a month away.

Brilliant!

I knew my dad and he was always thinking outside the box.

Or was he?

Still, a month is a long time to celebrate someone’s birthday. Couldn’t he have at least done the surprise birthday party in the right month?

I never did ask him if it was on purpose to hold the surprise party a month early and for what reason. Or if he just messed up and forgot Mom’s true birthdate.

I wish I could go back and ask him before he passed away right after my 21st birthday.

Regardless, it definitely was one of the most memorable birthday parties ever.

And, it definitely was a real surprise.

Thanks for reading my story.