Anne Peterson

Healing words for wounded souls.

Why I remember my birthday party so long ago.

Unknown

Little fuzzy chicks. Made of feathers with little orange feet. Not beautiful, unless you were nine and they would be on your party table. Each one had bright colors and little funny hats. I loved those chicks.

This was before party stores with aisles and aisles of themes. Back then, moms had to think of ideas to make their little girls smile. Mom was good at it.

Butterflies danced in my stomach. When would my friends be here?

Thinking of my friends in my house felt strange. I had never had my school friends over. I had a friend who lived down the street and one next door, but we usually played at our friend’s houses, or outside.

I was okay with not having someone come over. I was afraid they’d make fun. Like those kids did when we went to the drive-in for ice cream and they saw my huge dad. Spreading out their hands wide they imitated his size. And then they laughed and laughed, except it wasn’t funny.

I saw them as I stood in line with my brother to get our cones. And then, I had to get in our 57 Chevy with my dad. My ice cream didn’t taste good that day.

But today would be different. Dad was at work. There would be no laughing like that. I would have friends over. Just for me.

When you’re one of five kids, there isn’t much time for things just for you.

The party felt like a dream. The doorbell would ring and magically another friend would appear all dressed up.

Maryann Kenny. She was actually at my front door! And in her hands was a present. She got me a present!

The table mom and I set looked beautiful. Paper cupcake liners perched by each plate, filled with jelly beans and m&m’s. Candy I picked out myself. Just for today.

I’m glad my birthday came before Easter, when the chicks waited in the dime store to be adopted. I took my time inspecting each one.

“Choose ten,” mom told me.

They had to be perfect. Just like my party.

Then I picked out Hershey bars for prizes. Not a package of them, but big ones.

We played “hot potato.” Sitting in a circle, we passed a little potato around while the music played. When the music stopped, whoever had the potato would be out, and we’d start again.

“Let your friends win the prizes,” mom told me.

And there was the potato walk, where each of us put a potato on top of one foot. Then we had to go across the room without dropping it. Sure it sounds easy, but those red potatoes from the bin were shaped funny. I practiced over and over.

Then finally there was the clothespin game. We stood in line and dropped wooden clothespins into a bucket. The one with the most would get a prize. I liked the clothespin game.

I looked at my cake sitting on the table. Homemade cake with pink frosting and different colored candles. It was the most beautiful cake ever.

I had so much fun that day. I did a lot of smiling. Maybe this party would help. Maybe I would feel like I belonged instead of feeling different.

The time went by too fast. Soon I was saying goodbye.

“Thank you for coming, I smiled. But inside I was sad; sad the magic was over.

I watched them walk across my front porch and down the stairs.

My friends were in MY house. I couldn’t believe it.

It was the best party in the whole world. One that would last me forever.

And now, when Easter approaches and I’m shopping for my grandsons. If I see a little chick I have to pick it up. And think about the special day so long ago, of Happy Birthday to me.

About Anne Peterson

I write words you can feel, sometimes they rhyme. If I'm not writing, I'm telling stories from my head, to little ones who call me grandma.

15 Replies

  1. Such a beautiful story, beautiful memory. Now when I see one of those little chicks I will think of your birthday and your perfect party.

    1. Thanks, Kathleen.

      I love that you liked it.

      🙂

  2. kayesims

    What a great story – and so well told. Some of the time I was feeling sad and scared for you, but some of the time I was thinking of my birthday party – that I unfortunately don’t remember except for the pictures.

    1. Kaye,
      Were you feeling scared because of the way I wrote the story??
      Thanks for reading it.
      And for your comments.

  3. Doris Haugen

    How engaging and well told, Anne!

    1. Thanks, Doris. I really enjoyed writing this one and lingering there.

  4. Simply a beautiful memory Anne, I felt like I was there with you and to tell the truth I still love those little chicks at easter time. I hope you have the comfort of family around you this easter.

    1. Kath,
      Thanks for your comment. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

  5. What a beautiful memory. I was brought close to tears for some reason by that little girl’s happiness. It has something to do with the fact that I often see my own mother as being an awfully strict person. Your post reminded me of the parties she planned for me, the cakes she made. Sometimes, we only remember the straight lines and we forget the colours inside. Thanks for reminding me about the colours my mom also painted for me Anne.

    1. Audrey,

      Thanks for taking the time to read my story. This memory is bittersweet. I am so glad I wrote it. I’m so glad you liked it. Thanks for your comment.

  6. Beautiful visual Anne. I can just see you there, smiling and enjoying YOUR special day. By the way…HaPpY BiRtHdAy!

    1. Caryn,
      Thanks for reading and for your comments. And the birthday wishes. This birthday was difficult since my brother died last month, but God helped me through it. That was my blog last time about Steve.

  7. Hi Anne! Stopping by from Tribe Writers… Really enjoyed reading this and just wanted to say so. But I gotta ask – did the party end up strengthening your friendships, making you feel more like you belonged? Just curious… 🙂

    Totally different subject – thanks for your encouragement on Tribe Writers. Fun to have you there. 🙂

    1. Dana,

      Actually, I don’t think the party helped except for short term. I think I felt a little more like I belonged. But, because we were raised by strict parents and my dad was really old school greek, I never did fit in and actually was humiliated by the time I reached 8th grade. There was a tea that was for graduates and one parent. At that event they embarrassed me and it was hard to bounce back.

      I love Tribewriters. Glad to be there. But thanks, for your comment.

      1. Ah…. thanks so much for sharing. That’s hard stuff. Wow. 🙁 I struggled to fit in in school also.

        Blessings on your weekend!!

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