Deb's Birthday

Today is February twelfth, my daughter Deb’s birthday. It’s a beautiful, sunny day and will probably be in the mid seventies by late afternoon. It’s been like this all week making walking the dogs and working outside a really pleasant experience. I’ve become active in a little Methodist Church about ten minutes away where the atmosphere is just like home and the people are open and friendly. I’m singing in the choir, playing bells in the bell choir, playing Pinochle, helping with Wednesday night dinners and tomorrow, I attend my first rehearsal with their gospel/barbershop singers. I’m trying to give to the church as much as of myself as I can. I have received so very much from the church–the church community everywhere–that I wish I could do more.

This evening, Deb and I will go to see a modern dance group perform at the Bob Hope theater downtown Stockton. A play, and now a dance performance–whew! It’s almost more culture than I can handle, but I’ll manage it somehow.

Buford is all tucked away at a nearby storage facility ‘til needed for whatever. On my out the fiberglass roof blew out about twelve feet along the left side. The manufacturer admitted they had problems with this particular roof and have a kit available to fix it. My unit is too old for them to provide any help with the replacement so I am going to do the work myself and save about a thousand bucks. I’m trying to get them to provide me with two kits free, one for each side as I was warned the other side would probably go too at any time. The kits cost nearly $200 each so I’m hoping Winnebago will help out at least. Of course, how can I apply any pressure for a unit that’s eight years old? They did say the repair kits were very effective and relatively easy to install. It’s just that they take quite a few hours labor and that’s what runs up the cost of having the work done. Glad I have the tools to do the job with me–thanks to Bob Fee.

I must share the following letter I wrote for Deb’s birthday. I call it, “Incredible Deb.”

Yes indeed, Deb, you are incredible! I remember precisely where and where we met. It was on an elevator in West Suburban Hospital in Oak Park, Illinois in the early evening of February 12, 1951. You were the most beautiful newborn I had ever seen and your mother, holding you gently, was equally beautiful. Despite a bruised forehead from a difficult delivery, you were drop-dead gorgeous. Of course, I have never seen you as anything but beautiful from that first day to this. From that day the memories began to build.

Some were memories of pain: striking your head against the edge of a door when you were but a few months old. I was terrified I might have injured you seriously, but you recovered with no ill effects. In our house in Long Beach you kept hurting yourself by running your head into the edge of our kitchen table until I padded the entire edge of the table.

I remember a delightful little girl playing with her baby brother, then with a new sister, then with another new sister. I remember identical blue dresses for all my girls including your mother. I remember trips to Sequoia and Yosemite, a long trip home in our white Simca with a little brother. Stops at Tucson and in Monument valley during that trip. I remember a Christmas card picture with a little brother, taken in the old house on Eddy road, a little girl reciting “Madelaine” and “Krispins Krispian, the little dog who belonged to himself.” on the couch in Lyndhurst, a first day at school in Mayfield Heights, and many other precious moments as the years passed so very quickly.

Suddenly I saw a beautiful young lady walk down the stairs in her first high heels in our house on Lynn Park. My little girl had metamorphosed over night into a woman, right before my eyes. Then there were summers at the lake, waterskiing, boat riding, even some fishing. Each day a wonderful joy seeing you, your brother and sisters, your cousins and friends so very joy filled and celebrating life and youth. Then it was studies and dances and snowball fights and learning to drive, laughter and a few tears. Far too soon it was off to college and my little girl, now a woman, had left the nest to make her own life. I was so very proud.

Then there was hygiene school, marriage and two wonderful sons. A proud father became also a proud grandfather. During this time my own life began to fall apart as I struggled with a failing marriage and violent internal turmoil. Had it not been for you, your brother, your sisters and the rest of our extended and quite wonderful family I would not have made it through. Even with all that support I made many mistakes costly and damaging to others and myself. Through all this personal hell, you stood strongly by my side, never wavering.

Then, I hurt for you as your own marriage fell apart. It is truly devastating to see one you love go through painful times and be unable to help. But love definitely makes such transitions easier and there was much love surrounding you. I was so happy for you when an old love came back into your life even as I myself was finding love once more. The happy days we shared culminated in our six-month visit in Visalia–a wonderful time of pain and joy where hidden rumblings of future disaster haunted both of us. These days were some of the happiest Barb and I shared and you were a big part of that happiness. Remember the laughing jag?

Now we are both recovering from terrible losses, different, but extremely hurtful. It is a treasure to me to be here with you at this time. I know it helps my healing process and I think yours as well. Your cheery “good morning” each day lifts my spirits no matter how low they have gone. We share laughter, memories, tears, dreams and sorrows in an almost magical way. You are a shining beacon of love and joy for me and I thank God for you, my incredible Deb!

Love and Happy Birthday! Dad.

To contact author, Howard Johnson Click Here!