The Birthday Boy

           Stephen was a quiet child and didn’t care much for parties. He would have much preferred skipping his fifth birthday altogether if it meant he wouldn’t have to endure the duties of being the guest of honor. He walked about the house, letting himself get lost in the crowd of family members, head lowered, feet shuffling, like a little lamb headed for the slaughter.

            “There you are,” his mother reached out to give him a firm squeeze. “Let me see that smile.”

           

He let the corners of his mouth lift and she patted his head in approval.

           

“Oh you’re lovely,” she said handing him a bowl of dip, “put it by the chips on the coffee table, would you?”

            After all the guests had arrived, and the usual trading of “you’ll never believe what my child did” stories were dished out over cake and tea, it was almost time to open presents.

           

“Stephen tell us who you are,” a tipsy Uncle gave him a rough pat on his little back.

            The crowd of family members sat on couches, dining room chairs dragged into the living room, and children sat cross-legged below their respective parent’s neatly ironed slacks and knee length woolen skirts. It was early March and though the calendar would soon claim to be approaching spring, Ireland’s climate would take little notice of the change in season.

            Stephen wore a heavy flannel shirt, teal and black plaid “to bring out those sparkling eyes,” his mother had said as she helped him dress that morning. His older sisters teased him for that remark but his new brother’s screeching cries kept his mother too busy to notice the bullying.

            “Who are you?” His Uncle persisted, giving the man beside him a friendly slap on his arm to alert him of the impending hilarity.

            “Yea tell them,” hissed Stephen’s sisters, their hot breath hitting the blond hairs on the back of his neck.

            “Oh Darling,” his mother came to his aid crouching down to take his chin in her hand. “You guys are embarrassing him,” she gently scolded the group of hecklers and then whispered into Stephen’s ear, “but I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble if you just said it for a laugh.”

            “Come on Steve,” his father spoke in his usual rational tone, “just say it and then you can open your presents.”

            Stephen looked around feeling his cheeks grow warm and pink.

            “I am the gorgeous child,” he said.

            The room burst out in laughter. Bellies held, drinks spilling, smokers coughing in hysterics.

            Stephen still didn’t get the joke.