In All Its Glory

We never suspected a thing. The streets were eerily quiet, but it was, after all, Saturday evening at an old house converted to a restaurant in downtown Huntsville. I thought the restaurant had fallen on hard times and wasn’t attracting many customers. We never suspected a thing.

Tim and I led the way inside only because my sister-in-law yelled at my brother to “Get back. Get back.” Shelley was playing purse while looking for her camera, and Ted obeyed. We walked right in, mouths fell open, and, for once in my life, I was speechless. Where were we and why were all these people looking at us?

Somewhere in the fog, it dawned on me that I knew these folks. Friends, family, our children, grandchildren—all standing there, each and every one looking like the cat that swallowed the canary and grinning foolishly while Tim and I stuttered and stammered incomprehensibly. We never suspected a thing.

On Saturday night, June 13, our 60th birthday party kicked off with a loud “Surprise!” followed by confused gibberish. Actually, it began ten months earlier when our daughter, Rachel, dreamed up this grand scheme and convinced the rest of the family to throw caution to the wind and join her in plotting, conniving, and downright bald-faced lying. They all did it so well! We never suspected a thing.

In my defense, my birthday is July 2 while Tim’s is June 13, so I had absolutely no reason to be suspicious or iron my pants. One would think Tim should have been more alert to such machinations, but I suppose age interferes with one’s internal antennae.

The weekend before we had driven to Rachel’s in Charlotte to return her brother, Evan, and pick up our dog, Lucy. Rachel was none to happy to have us, she told us later. Our presence meant that she was duty bound to throw a birthday party for her dad, complete with cake, gift, and celebratory supper which then involved her husband, BJ, who cooked spaghetti, Tim’s favorite. Rachel’s cooking skills are still limited to frozen things that don’t have to be touched by human hands.

Still clueless, we showed up at Tim’s parents’ house in Huntsville the night before the big bash. We weren’t particularly surprised to find that his brother and nephew had flown in earlier from Houston or that his sister, brother-in law, and their granddaughters were also at the house. At that point, what could they do but buy a cake, ice cream, and celebrate?

But the fun didn’t stop there. Bryan, our 4-year-old nephew who is always eager for a road trip, went with us. He enjoyed playing with the two little girls but nearly died from heat exhaustion. Before dinner I stripped him down—cowboy hat, camouflage boots, astronaut suit, jeans, shorts, underwear, Peter Pan shirt, and two t-shirts. Later I was thankful that I had unraveled him to shorts, underwear, t-shirt, and flip flops when he fell in dog poop. “This is not good”, he announced to the group, and, boy, was he right about that. Tim hosed him off in the yard, but he still had to take a bath before we could get in the car with him. They were relieved to see us go.

All five adult children—Jeremy and Jennifer, Evan, Rachel and BJ—
and grandchildren—Tyler and Anna Lauren—stealthily slipped into town on Friday and needed a place to stay. Judy, BJ’s mom, graciously offered to keep the tribe at her house. I really believe that Judy did so reluctantly. At Easter, Tyler stepped in dog poop and then tracked it all over her house. (What is it with little boys and dog poop?) Later, he grabbed an electric fence and nearly electrocuted both of them.

On Saturday the kids kept up with our wanderings through Shelley’s numerous text messages. No one wanted to accidentally run into us while we were shopping for Bryan a new pair of dinosaur boots and an action figure at Target. We should have left that action figure on the shelf.

The ruse to get us to the restaurant was an invitation from Shelley and Ted for an adults-only dinner to celebrate our birthdays. Bryan was going to the neighbors, Brenda and Gary, for an evening of Zaxby’s chicken tenders and fun. Unbeknownst to us, Bryan, now dressed in a suit, tie and neon green St. Patrick’s bowler hat, left early for the neighbors’ house. Finding the garage door unlocked, he wandered in and made his way to their bathroom to show Brenda his new action figure. Brenda, naked, nearly fainted. Gary, startled but retaining his now compromised composure, stayed in the shower.

As is clear to anyone who knows our family, these are all every day occurrences and would never arouse the least suspicion. Anyway, back to the party. Once we collected our wits, we had the time of our lives. BJ had approved the menu, and Jennifer had selected a beautiful cake with 60 lighted sparkler candles and giant helium-filled silver balloons announcing exactly how old we were. (The 6 was actually a 9 turned upside down. The 6 popped at the store, and a 9 was the only thing left.) We hugged old friends, laughed as we reminisced, and toasted our good fortune. The bartender told Rachel that he had been working parties in Huntsville for 15 years and this was in his top three best parties.

Unfortunately, the band’s microphone enabled and emboldened those with kind words and all- too-true stories. We have the video in case we want to relive any of the embarrassing moments. Jeremy invited everyone back in ten years but explained that the party would be held at Piccadilly, between 2-4 pm, soft food would be served, and medical facilities would be available.


Two sisters showed up for dinner only to find the restaurant closed for our birthday party. Not to worry, the Thompsons and the Caneers, chatting on the front porch, invited the girls to proceed to the bar for glasses of wine and put them on John Thompson’s tab. Everyone should have such good friends.

Through it all, I marveled that our family had done something so utterly wonderful for us. We are humbled by all of it. And we are grateful for the friends and family who helped us celebrate.

If you think you should have been invited but weren’t, I am so sorry. I would have loved to have seen you. Alas, Rachel was in charge of the guest list. I did happen to ask her why several people were not invited. She thought they were dead. If you know my daughter…well, then…I have absolutely nothing more to add.

My three pollywogs, Bryan, Tyler, and Anna Lauren, learned several valuable lessons that night. First of all, your friends remember every weird and wacky thing you have ever done; choose them wisely and then treat them nicely. Second, don’t be too nosy or suspicious; you will ruin all the surprises. Third, your family doesn’t have to love you or take you in; things go so much more smoothly if they do though. Fourth, little children remind us of our connections to one another and to God; keep them safe. And finally, everyone enjoys watching mischievous little boys chase lightning bugs and beautiful little girls dance.

So I hope to see all of you—those who came to the party, those who had to be elsewhere, and those who would have been invited had Rachel known you were still alive—at Piccadilly ten years from now. In the meantime, I will take Shelley’s birthday party advice.


“Go forth and travel, but please write the stories,
while experiencing life—in all its glory.”