Moments Well

I have a birthday looming on the horizon, and I must confess, I have been more than a bit in awe of the occasion.

No longer can I pretend (even to myself) that I remain even middle aged, or elderly. No, the date this year confirms I will be well beyond that idealistic description,

Glancing at the calendar last night on my new mini Ipad (an amazing birthday gift,) I realized how dramatic the event actually will be.

Then I remembered the earliest and long forgotten birthdays when the Magician (a/k/a Dad) made each and all so unforgettable and so very happy for his then only child.

Our small Hell’s Kitchen apartment was always decorated earlier in the day, and the doorknob covered with butter in recognition of the traditional October holiday festivities.

Before leaving for work, Dad placed a huge metal pail in the very center of our large tenement kitchen. A mammoth block of ice soon slowly melting was delivered in the afternoon by Tony, our family friend and faithful iceman.

Shortly after arrival, each and every young guest was taught the art of “bobbing” for apples by the welcoming host now wearing his Magician’s disguise.

And always, without fail, there was a small award for all who participated. The Magician had made a quick stop at the corner candy store before arriving home earlier from work. Hooton bars were one of the favorite prizes despite being known as penny candy

The door bell kept ringing as young guests accompanied by their parents arrived in quick succession after climbing the five flights of wooden stairs.

All had been invited by my Mom, many from her knowledge of neighbors unable to pay the monthly rent or buy warm shoes for their children.

I was a reclusive child, and had few if any friends. Because social events (especially for children in that pre War era,) were rare on 58th Street, there were few regrets for a birthday party.

Uncle Bill had been dispatched earlier in the afternoon back to the “old neighborhood,” (47th Street and Tenth Avenue) to pick up the famed oval German pound cake lavishly and dramatically iced with pink and white fondant roses.

While there were no clowns to entertain nor musicians with flutes, the warm welcome from both my parents dissolved any need for additional hospitality.

Tonight reluctantly remembering the date of the last party, I realized with a pang, the beloved Magician never survived to celebrate or had an opportunity to fear many more birthdays of his own.

God allowed His faithful servant enough time to help in the war effort that began soon after our last celebration (causing the demise of the famed German bakery,) and to barely welcome another daughter,

Still he never met his six grandchildren nor attended any of their weddings.

Nor did he go down in history as a success from the world’s point of view or develop a “following.”

I realize the Magician’s been gone quite a long time, and obviously didn’t have an opportunity to fear the onset of old age.

I also know he was viewed as a success and never forgotten by those whose lives he touched during his brief time on earth,

And Maya Angelou’s memorable words come to mind.

“And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly.

“Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration.

“Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.

“They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better.

“For they existed.”