WHERE DOES THE TIME
GO?
By
Michael Edwin Q.
I did everything in my power to
stifle my 55th birthday. I succeeded in keeping it down to a card
passed around and signed by everyone in the office, and dinner with Sandi, the
woman I was seeing at the time. She called and asked if her daughter and her
son-in-law could join us.
I said, “Sure, as long as they
don’t bring me a birthday present…not even a gag-gift.” Bad enough the waiters
at the restaurant were sure to sing Happy Birthday to me; why make it worse with
presents?
I was on my way out when the phone
rang.
“Mike, it’s me, your father.”
Obviously, my sister reminded him
of my birthday. I always did the same for her. Not that he forgets dates; he
just forgets which date goes with which offspring.
Ten years after my mother died,
and the old house got to big for him, he sold everything and moved down to Florida. “God’s waiting
room,” as he likes to call it.
“Happy Birthday, son!” he beamed,
a touch of pride in his voice that we had both come this far.
Aside from his birthday wishes,
our conversation was not unlike our other weekly phone calls – the usual…his
health…my job…politics. I looked at the clock; it was getting late.
“Listen, Pop, thanks for calling;
but I’ve got to go; I have a date with Sandi.
“Sandi…? Do I know this Sandi?”
“No, Pop, I don’t think I ever
told you about her.”
“So, where are you taking her?”
“I’m not taking her; she’s taking
me out for my birthday. We’re having dinner with her daughter and her husband.”
“Her husband…! Your girlfriend has
a husband?”
“No, Pop, it’s her daughter’s
husband.”
“Her daughter has a husband! My
God, Mike, how old is this woman you’re seeing?”
“Pop, I’m 55 years old today! From
today, I can walk into any I-Hop and order off the senior’s menu. In fact, I
can even move into your senior’s community, down there. We could be neighbors!”
There was a long pause before he
spoke. “Gee, you’re right. I guess I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that nobody
pictures theirs children as senior citizens; but I guess it’s bound to happen.”
There was another long pause. “My God, where does the time go?” he sighed.
The next moment of silence was
long and uncomfortable; I was thankful it was he who broke it.
“Well, listen, I know you’re in a
hurry; don’t let me keep you. Happy Birthday, son; I love you.”
“I love you too, Pop. I’ll call
you on Sunday.”
We only started telling each other “I love
you” in the past ten years. I don’t know what restrains many men from doing so,
but better late than never.
As I hung up, I thought, “My God, where
does the time go?”
I picked up the receiver and
dialed.
A friendly voice answered,
“Sunshine Travel…May I help you, please?”
“Yes, I’d like to book a flight to
Orlando, Florida.”
END
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