It was supposed to be a surprise party.
The one my cousin’s daughters organized for him.
By evite many months before his eightieth birthday.
But since it didn’t say surprise, guests told him they were coming.
Informing him of the event.
Which then became known as the surprise party.
Always mentioned with a knowing giggle.
See you at the surprise party!
Which, indeed, rolled around in May.
During unrelenting rain.
But, the house was a beacon.
Welcoming the wet and soggy.
A lighthouse, decorated for the occasion.
Filled with joyful faces, good will, abundant treats.
Old friends, new, children, siblings, nephews, nieces, cousins.
A hub of festivity.
Party hats and favors.
Introductions and catching up.
Harmonious conversations.
Inflating corners of every room.
The birthday boy, decked for the occasion.
Red sneakers, blue birthday ribbon, seventy sixer tee.
Antennae on head, slacks with multicolored design.
Setting a tone of fanciful gaiety.
Like the parties we used to throw for a child.
At five and eight and ten.
Just reversed.
Adult children making one for a parent.
Though the celebration let slip,
the girls still managed to amaze.
A cake with teenaged photo.
Memoir in print, Aaron’s essays.
Lynn Benjamin
May 5, 2024
