Gifts Hard to Get To

Another installment in Work-Related Birthdays, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy!

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X,

            Quick! Say “MUTE”!

You hear that? That sound that you’re not hearing, is the next annoying song that they’ll play way too much on the radio.

            This card has just altered the universe so that you’ll never hear it!

I know! There should be more cards like this.

Happy Birthday!

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X,

            Happy Birthday! It took me ten thousand years to find it, but I managed to unearth this very special present for you.

            This card can practice guitar for you!

                        It just can’t play it.

Happy Birthday!

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X,

Seeing as how your birthday is coming up, I thought long and hard about the ideal present.

            And as popular as the usual gifts are – confetti, cake-shaped cars, and flying llamas – I figured you deserved something revolutionary.

Like this card. Because who ever heard of a birthday card?

Happy Birthday!

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X,

            I figured the best thing to do for your birthday was to make you my patented

Birthday Stew Special!

 Nutritional information:

            Hot Fudge for sweetness

            Asparagus for some roughage

            Baked Beans for fiber

            Eggs for protein

            Strawberries for antioxidants

            A lime for vitamin C

            Bottled sunlight for vitamin D and a nice tan

And a dash of Cayenne Pepper for clear sinuses

Happy Birthday!

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Patriotism

I'm a veteran.

My experience in the military wasn't a pleasant one. When I got out, I had trouble adjusting, and the people who smiled and told me I was a hero were ironically as much a part of the problem as the people who called me a murderer.  Because when it really came down to it, they didn't know anything about me, and didn't really want to know.

They assumed.  And instead of making me feel loved - or hated - it made me feel worthless.  Like my patriotism and my sacrifice had been cast off and replaced with a pastiche ideal.  Something so foreign to me, I couldn't even recognize it.

Loving a soldier because they served is like loving a chef because of his killer pork roast.  It's nice, but it doesn't count for much.

This story isn't about me asking for sympathy.  This is me trying to express some of the most central pains of my life.

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I Want You

“The country needs us, Mom.”

“Mmhmm.”

“California might be captured. And if they get California, Florida’s next.”

“What would be after Florida?”

“Chicago.” He looked up, “This is serious.”

“And how many soldiers do you figure you’d need?”

He tucked his chin to his chest and said through a smile, “Five bags.”

“Five?!”

He giggled.

“Well, bad news for the troops, Tommy.  The country can’t afford that many reinforcements.”

“Really Mom, just one would help.”

“Hrm.  We’ll see.”

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He opened the bag with a pair of blunted scissors from his backpack.  Each soldier was carefully disentangled from his comrades and inspected.  A few were already damaged.  Warped, dwindled, or malformed, and he placed them carefully aside.

A bucket in the closet was red, white, and blue.  A star-spangled elder with a face stern and inviting stared off the side, pointing a finger that spoke volumes of duty, patriotism, and need.  The aged patriot ignored the boy’s inventory, preferring to stare rigidly at the crossbow and foam bolts beside him.

Tommy finished his pageant and scooped up the castoffs. Carrying them solemnly to the closet, he nudged the door further open with his foot and dumped them in the bucket. He offered an unbalanced salute, and rushed back to his war.

Mouthed explosions and gunfire, heavy footsteps from a light body, shouted orders and Yes, Sir’s.  Tommy marshaled his armies, devastating each side with imaginary mortar strikes, napalm, mines, and missiles.  One was stepped on. Thirteen were crushed beneath a dictionary-shaped bunker buster.  One was lost when an explosion scattered them across the room.

The list of casualties was substantial.  And except for the one lost, Tommy extracted them all from the battlefield.  And before he went down for dinner he gave himself one last duty. 

He put them gently to rest behind the half-closed closet door.

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