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.
