For the second time this year, I managed to keep a big secret. This really is that big of a deal. Be impressed.
This time around, I kept my social media free of all mentions of the surprise party I attended this evening. It was imperative that we all kept it under our hats. We faced my stepmother' ire had any of us tipped off my father that we were all coming for his round-number birthday party. And when my dad arrived at the restaurant, and walked in and saw his church group, and then some people from my stepmother's business, and then old friends and coworkers of his, and then finally our table in the corner where I, my uncle and aunt, and my stepmother's sister and brother in law sat, he was stunned, over and over. He truly had no idea any of this was coming. I know he understood how appreciated and loved he is. My stepmother and her co-conspirators did a fantastic job of planning and organizing.
I have been coming to visit my dad in the South since he moved here when I was ten or eleven years old. He lived in Alabama for years, and moved to his current location before my girls started kindergarten. Tonight was the first time I really had a complete picture of how much his friends and coworkers had touched my life growing up and in my adulthood. So many people remembered me, so many asked after my kids and my man. I feel like I got a hefty dose of spillover affection tonight. It is really good for your soul, having so many people remember you and reaffirm that your life is noticed. If I just got a glancing blow from all these good feelings, I can just imagine how my dad felt in a room with that many people there just for him.
My one regret was when the floor was opened for people to stand and tell stories, I couldn't focus on just one event long enough to tell a tale. I had random flashes of memories, from a lifetime of knowing him, but I couldn't string together a coherent narrative. I had a little stage fright as well. That might have made it harder to come up with just one extended story.
No photos today. I spent most of my day flying down the interstate, not stopping for photos, and my party pictures were blurry from dim light. Try and imagine an Italian restaurant, with about sixty people packed into a private room, with snacks, and balloons, and cake. Imagine very happy people. Got it? Good. Now we don't need pictures.
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