I’ve never been much for birthdays; I’ve always been somewhat embarrassed when anyone made much of a fuss over mine. Anyway, the wife insisted that I take the day off of work, and forgo a $200 Irish wedding to spend the day with her. As we don’t have any days off together, I reluctantly agreed; for all she’s been through married to me, she’s entitled to that at least. Still, I hated to loose the money.
After trying on two shirts and three pair of trousers at her behest, I finally declared that I was as well dressed as I ever intended to be, and we went to dinner, considerably more extravagantly than we usually allow ourselves. After dinner, we went up to Flanagan’s for a pint or two (a fancy restaurant, sure, but it had no Guinness), and perhaps pipe a tune or two with a friend who I knew to be playing there that evening. This is our off season; the street was empty and quiet.
I walked entirely unsuspecting into an ambush. The house was packed; all of our friends and neighbors were there (and a few innocent bystanders, who’d just stopped in for a pint), many of them in kilts, with Hawaiian shirts and sandals; the theme of the evening. My pipe major piped me in to “Happy Birthday”; there was a huge banner over the bar wishing me a happy birthday and a caricature of a piper with Scotch bottles in his drones, signed by everyone; there was a huge paper maché set of bagpipes on the table that they’d made, with tablecloths and candles on all the tables. They’d blown up and mounted some allegedly scandalous photos of me piping at the Jacksonville Irish Festival this spring; one posed with a beauty queen, the other with a gaggle of scantily clad colleens (it was a hot day). A friend of ours had meticulously baked a cake in the shape of a piper, complete with icing tartan kilt and Scotch miniatures for drones (10 year old McCallan Cask Strength); quite literally a work of art (the cake piper’s beard was jet black; bless her). There was a huge spread of food, and the Guinness flowed freely. Several others had brought pipes, one a drum, Peter sang my favorite Irish tunes, everyone was in tearing high spirits, and the craic was absolutely magnificent! The president of the New World Celts presented me with a certificate of appreciation for all of the fund-raisers and such that I’d piped for them over the years, and they’d all chipped in and bought a record player for me that transcribes music from vinyl albums to CD’s. I don’t know when the last time was I had a birthday party (six years old or so?), or when I’ve had as good a time or felt as loved and honored by my friends and neighbors; it was quite overwhelming.
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