Belly Dancer Surprise

Having a birthday so soon after the holidays was sometimes a drag. People can get "partied" out by the end of December, so the prospect of another celebration just two weeks later never seemed very exciting to those around me. It's not that people didn't attend, or that parties were not planned, but there always seemed to be this feel of "ugh" wrapped around the time.

I'm sure it was even worse for my father. His birthday was exactly a week before mine; January 7. I'm sure sometimes, his birthday was overshadowed by not only the holidays, but by his son: me. My father was 32 years older than me. I turned eight the year he turned 40. I have no recollection of what we did to help him celebrate this milestone. I wonder if Frederic and Lily will remember mine when it happens.

I do, however, remember his 45th birthday. I've never been one to understand celebrating the "5" birthdays past 25. 75 might make sense, but having a monumental celebration on 35, 45, 55, etc., doesn't make sense to me.

I can remember my father's 45th birthday for two reasons: 1)It was also my 13th birthday; the day I "became a man"; and 2)my mother had a belly dancer attend my Bar Mitzvah celebration as a surprise present for my father. I'm sure I have the converted VHS tape DVD tucked away in a box somewhere, but I have somewhat vivid memories of the strange "lap dance" my father received. The woman wasn't very pretty, I remember. Maybe belly dancers are not, by design. I remember she was thin, had very wavy permed brown hair, and wore this big plastic rimmed glasses. She was draped in silk linens and had tiny symbols attached to the index finger and thumb on both her hands.

At the time, my father looked much older than I today feel 40 really is. I mean, he looked old, with a full salt and pepper beard and thinning light brown and pepper hair. I remember the dancer put a chair in the middle of our dance floor, and instructed my father to sit. He had a big smile on his face, both from excitement and, I assume, from embarrassment. He didn't like to be the center of attention, but I think he appreciated my mother's gesture. He set aside his uncomfortable emotion to please her and the invited guests in his basement, who watched--also with excitement--as the dance routine unfolded before their eyes. It was a treat for everyone, but boy was it really a product of the 70's.

My father is gone now--almost three years--so we will not be sharing the celebration together. When I turn 40 next month, I don't think I will be surprised with a visit by a belly dancer. Thank God it will be 2010 and not 1978...