When I was little, my parents told me there were two kinds of kids: the ones who get cake, presents, and hugs on every birthday, and the ones who get cake, presents and hugs every day of the year. My siblings and I, according to my parents, were the second kind, and that’s why birthdays were never celebrated properly in our house. Exactly a week from today, I will celebrate my fifty-seventh birthday, and because I haven’t had as many cakes, presents and hugs in my life for the past few years, especially since my parents died, I’m forced to admit that I’ve been demoted to the first kind of kid – the kind who takes birthdays seriously and sulks when he doesn’t get a card. To celebrate my slide down the cosmic ladder of hugs and cakes, this week on Alphabet Soup, I’ll read one of the first and wildest birthday stories I ever wrote. I hope you enjoy it, and don’t forget to send a card!
Everyone in the class was looking forward to Naama’s birthday party. Her parties always involved something really special. Two years ago, it was at the national park and they played Scavenger Hunt in paddleboats, and last year they had it at Skate Land, and the national skating champion, who was her dad’s friend too, came and handed out autographs. Naama’s father is a very important person who always wears expensive clothes and a tie, and carries a briefcase. Rafi said he was like a prime minister or a member of the Knesset, but that couldn’t be, because he looked so young and you can’t be in the Knesset till you’re old. He’s really nice, Naama’s dad, and always has this big smile on his face, and he’s blond too, and he always has jokes to tell, or scary stories. Naama told me once—it’s a secret—how her dad goes to other countries a lot, but not just to ordinary places like France or London. He goes to secret countries, they’re called stuff like Colombia and Botufo. . . special places. He does important things there and they pay him a million billion for it, and all his friends from his job talk in funny languages and bring Naama lots of presents. My dad isn’t secret at all. He’s got a shoe store on Herzl Street, and his friends talk Hebrew, and they never bring me presents. All they do is whack me on the shoulder till it hurts and tell me I’m a big man now or ask me how it’s going at school, stupid stuff like that.
This year Naama’s birthday party was at her house. She’s got a cool house with three floors and a swimming pool with a waterslide and a separate gate for the car, the kind you open with a remote. And Naama’s dad was really cool and he let us open and close the gate. And when Yuval and Miron pushed Elad the nerd into the pool and he climbed out all wet, he laughed with everyone and didn’t start lecturing us like my dad, who’s always telling us to stop fooling around. And then he asked their Finippino housekeeper to bring the refreshments because the sun was out, and there were two clowns who had this great show they did and organized all these different contests. Naama told me as a secret how Shimon Peres was coming later, and maybe also Uri Geller, from TV, who’d known her dad since they were in high school. And the Finippino brought in a big, big birthday cake with sparklers on top. Naama showed me the rest of the house. They have three toilets, and every one of them is as big as our bathroom at home. And there’s a fountain next to each of them that you could turn on and watch, so you don’t get bored when you’re taking a shit.
On our way back to the yard, I saw Naama’s dad standing there in the doorway talking with two men. There was a cigarette in his mouth, and he looked sick and kind of sad. “Could you just wait another ten minutes? My daughter’s having a birthday party. I’ll just tell the kids that the party’s ending early . . . I wouldn’t want to ruin her day.”
The men in the doorway nodded, and the fatter one said, “Okay. You have ten minutes. We’ll be waiting in the car.”
Naama and I sneaked back into the yard. Elad was there, even wetter than before. Miron had thrown him back into the water. They’d almost finished the cake; only some crumbs were left. Naama’s dad came out into the yard. He had sweat on his forehead, but otherwise he seemed better than before and he was laughing again and smiling. And then the Finippino came out carrying a tray with lots of goody bags, the kind that have pictures of Popeye on them. We didn’t want to take any at first, because goody bags are for little kids. But Naama’s dad said they weren’t ordinary goody bags and that there was magic inside, which he’d brought from the other side of the world. What you had to do was take the bag home without opening it, put it under your pillow at night, and think really hard about the present you wanted to get more than anything else. The next morning you were supposed to bring it back without opening it, and tell Naama’s dad what present you’d wished for. And Naama’s dad would bring the bag to his personal magician, who would pull the presents out of the bags. Then on Saturday we’d all go over to their house and our presents would be there waiting for us. We all grabbed the bags, and Naama’s dad reminded us not to show the bags to anyone and not to peek, because otherwise the magic would get out.
Walking out of Naama’s house on our way home, I waved nicely at the people in the car, who’d agreed to wait an extra ten minutes so we could get our presents. Miron had filled a bag with water and wanted to throw it at the car, but Mickey talked him out of it. So Miron threw it at Elad instead. Elad said it was all bull, there was no such thing as magic and that he was just going to open his bag right now to see what it had inside. Miron grabbed the bag out of his hand and said that if Elad wanted to waste the magic, he’d take the bag away from him so he could get two presents. Elad cried and wanted his bag back, and Miron slapped him and said that if Elad told his parents or anything, he’d really let him have it. Tonight I’ll put the bag under my pillow and dream about an Alba skateboard. And even if there’s no magic, I’ll get it as a present, because Naama told me as a secret how you could always count on her dad.
