The Circus Has Moved On

When I turned fifteen, my parents did me the favor of dropping all my closest pals from my ninth grade class into my birthday as a surprise. It was hard to keep the defense of "my parents don't understand me" while they did everything they could to connect me with the people I called my best friends. All at once I had this feeling of being completely overwhelmed by the attention, and at the same time wanting to crawl under the porch of our cabin to shy away from that bright light.
Thirty-five years later I found myself on the receiving end of a weekend full of activity to celebrate my fiftieth birthday. I wanted to believe that I was prepared for this experience. I was an adult with a fifteen-year-old son of my own. Why shouldn't I be showered with affection on the golden anniversary of my entry into the human race?
I don't generally look to be the center of attention. I tend to seek a quiet corner from which I can observe others and comment to those closest to me about what all those other folks are doing. I want to take my pot-shots from the wings. But not on my big day. My friends put me in the center ring, and let the circus begin. I would not have guessed that there were so many stories and anecdotes about yours truly to fill up an evening, or rather I would not have imagined that my presence would stir an evening full of laughter and reminiscing such as I have lived through this past Saturday. I have a room full of clever, creative friends who treated me to a show of their appreciation and affection for me. I laughed. I cried. I laughed some more. I was so happy to have the chance to hear all of this wonderful news about me. It was painless, unless you count the cramps I got in my sides from laughing so hard. And now the show moves on, but I've got a room full of happy memories for my scrapbook, and a touch more confidence not to flee the spotlight next time.