WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?

By

Michael Edwin Q.

I did everything in my power to stifle my 55^th 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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