***
We celebrated Jack's 5th birthday this past week. He is such a pleasure to raise, so inquisitive and caring and genuinely sweet-hearted and doe-eyed and amazed by the blossoming world around him. He's really been looking forward to this birthday for a while, more acutely aware than ever before of the passage of time, of fellow classmate's birthdays coming and going, and the prospect of the coming celebrations, presents, and cake.We planned to have a big party at school this year, and a smaller celebration for family at home the weekend prior. Not only would Jack get to pick out the decorations an cupcakes an favors for his school party over the weekend, he would get to help bake his own cake for Saturday (the kid _loves_ to cook, and particularly desserts).
***
I admit I beamed with no small measure of familial pride when Doc posed the important question: "Jack, what kind of birthday cake do you want?" Jack's rejoinder was prompt and unhesitating: "Yellow Cake with Chocolate Icing," said he, "And Vanilla Ice Cream."
***
GG came up for the weekend along with Aunt Debbie, and we commenced to baking and all other sorts of carrying on. I am sure nealya quarter of the cake batter was consumed uncooked and against physician's order. While the cake was in the oven, Doc and Jack went out to the party store to get all of the necessary appurtenances to a proper celebration. When they got back, we broke out the chocolate icing and made the cake masterpiece into its proper and united whole. We grilled out hot dogs and hamburgers and talked about whether it would snow on Jack's birthday again (it did). Everyone dug in to their ABC Burgers (Avocado Bacon Cheddar) like there was no tomorrow. Then came the cake, covered stem to stern in fudge icing and adorned with 5 blazing birthday candles. The kid blew out every single candle in one breath, on the first try.
***
For as long as I can remember, Shaw men have been eating Yellow Cake with Chocolate Icing and Vanilla Ice Cream for their birthday celebrations. As far as I know, my grandfather consumed 70 consecutive iterations of this same cake over the seven decades of his life. From my own recollection, with the exception of an Ernie cake and one 9x13 sheet cake that sank in the middle that my mom turned into a "Swimming Pool Cake," I have followed largely the same course, as has my father before me (we even shared one this year).
***
Jack opened his presents like a machine, a new sleeping bag and new clothes and bigger underwear and a hybrid soccer ball / air hockey puck and his first bicycle, electric blue with orange stripes. He promptly rode it a few laps around the house, and then got off to share with Sam who was chasing him and bellowing "MYCICLE." It amazes me just how much Jack is a caring and loving kid. He has his jealous moments just like everyone else, but he is constantly looking out for how to share things with Caroline, or to watch out for Sam to make sure he has the same opportunity to participate in mischief as do the older kids. He lines all of his 72 stuffed animals up into a "Zoo" everyone aligned so that no one animal is blocking another's view of whatever activity is going on. When they wrestle he always looks out for Sammy's head and cradles him to the ground before turning to jump on Caroline, and he is so quick to dole out exactly one half of the rocks from his own pocket (collected surreptitiously from the playground under the unsuspecting gaze of preschool teachers, like some mini version of the Shawshank Redemption) with Caroline so that she can have her own "collection."
***
Tradition holds that the very last piece of cake is to be eaten by the patriarch, preferably using only his hands as intruments of honor, a ritual conducted without fail over the kitchen sink. I upheld my end of the bargain, and as is bound to happen from time to time I was caught in the act by my young acolyte, Jack.
Happy Birthday, son. I look forward to many many more years of your wonderful smile, your sweet hugs, and teaching you how to Eat Cake Over the Sink.
No comments:
Post a Comment