Sunday, October 25, 1998

Her baby's birthday gets missed again

By Sharon Randall

Today is my daughter's 24th birthday. I can say she's all grown up, but the words don't exactly roll off my tongue.

When she was a baby, we played this game. I'd ask, "How big is Joanna?" It was magic. No matter what mischief she was making, the question always grabbed her. Her head would snap to attention. Her body would quiver with excitement. And her face would light up with purest joy, as if she were about to do something marvelous -- unroll the toilet paper or lick the dog's dish or climb up on the table and chew the centerpiece to mush.

She did all that and more. But whenever I asked "How big is Joanna?" she'd raise her chubby arms in a "V" (picture Richard Nixon signing "victory!") and together we would shout, "So big!"

Or rather, I shouted it. She just babbled. But I knew what she meant. It wasn't a very challenging game. In those days, it didn't take much to entertain us.

Babies survive by being just slightly more cute than they are trouble. Otherwise, they'd never make it to their first birthday. And she was seriously cute, this baby girl of mine, almost as cute as she was beautiful and brilliant and unbelievably quick -- and hellbent on growing up.

Oh, how she loved her birthdays. By the age of 2 -- and this is no exaggeration -- she took charge of planning her parties. For her third birthday, she hosted a tea for all her friends and their moms. She invited me, too, of course. Not that she had much choice, seeing as it was in my living room and I helped her make the refreshments.

After that, her dad and I stayed pretty much out of the way on her birthdays, except for cake and clean-up, the two things she thought we could handle. Guess she didn't want us to feel entirely left out.

She never expected us to buy her expensive gifts. She knew we didn't do expensive. But she counted on us to be there -- in the background, of course, preferably out of sight -- to wish her a happy birthday. To tell her that we were so glad she was born. And to be available for whatever, should she need us. What else are parents for?

When I told her I wanted to spend this October at a lake in the Carolinas and asked if she'd feed the cat, she said, "What? You're going to miss my birthday AGAIN?"

Once, in her entire life, I was away on her birthday. I've been paying for it ever since. But I really don't think she will miss me this birthday half as much as I'll miss her.

She's grown up a lot in the last year. Still wears a size 3, but she's big. Life has a way of stretching us to hold whatever it throws our way.

Last January, we lost her dad to cancer. This is her first birthday without him. Her big brother is in L.A. Her baby brother is in Yosemite.

And her mom's off chasing loons around some lake.

But I have faith in my daughter. She knows no matter where we are, whatever may come between us, those who love us are always with us -- if only in the background, even out of sight -- especially on our birthdays.

So if you see her, wish her happy birthday, won't you? And remind her to feed the cat.

Sharon Randall is a winner of the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors and the Best of the West commentary awards Her column regularly appears on Sunday.

Scripps Howard News Service