7th November 2025 My 70th Birthday
I have reached the milestone of seventy years, having raised three children on my own after Margaret passed away three decades ago. I never remarried I never found the right person, luck never seemed to be on my side, and a long list of excuses could be written, but does it matter? There was never time for that.
My two boys, James and Edward, were constantly fighting and getting into trouble. I shuffled them from one school to another until one brilliant physics teacher finally recognised a genuine talent in them. Suddenly the fights, the scandals, the endless headaches vanished.
My daughter, Elizabeth, also struggled. She found it hard to get along with her peers and the school psychologist suggested I take her to a psychiatrist. Then a new English literature teacher arrived at the school and started a writers workshop for beginners. Elizabeth threw herself into writing from dawn till dusk. Her short stories first appeared in the school paper and then in every local literary club.
In short, the boys earned scholarships to a prestigious university for maths and physics, while Elizabeth went on to study English literature. I was left alone, and with that solitude came a strange stillness even the wind seemed to howl like a lone wolf. I turned to fishing, gardening and raising a small herd of pigs on the big plot of land by the River Avon that had always been ours. I made a decent living, though I soon discovered that an engineer at the nearby factory earned far less than I did.
That meant I could still help my children buy them modest cars, toss a few pounds into their pockets for extra expenses, and afford them decent clothes. Yet my time grew tighter; most of my days were spent tending the farm and doing a bit of trade, which I actually enjoyed. Ten more years slipped by, and my 70th birthday was looming, which I intended to mark alone.
James and Edward now have families of their own, but they work on a topsecret defence project and cannot break away for the weekend. Elizabeth is constantly travelling to writers conferences and literary festivals. I didnt want to bother them with an invitation. Ill celebrate on my own, I told myself. Just a quiet evening, a walk around the farm, and a glass of whisky while I remember Margaret and think about how theyve grown.
That morning I rose early to check on the pigs a special feeding schedule demanded it. As I stepped out onto the meadow still glittering with starlight, I spotted something odd in the centre of the grass, wrapped in a tarpaulin.
What on earth is that? I muttered, just then several floodlights snapped on, bathing the meadow in bright beams. From behind the house emerged James, Edward, their wives and grandchildren, a handful of relatives, and Elizabeth accompanied by a tall gentleman in thick glasses. Everyone held balloons, squeaked into noisemakers, and pressed the buttons of airhorns with reckless enthusiasm. They all shouted, waved their arms, and swarmed around me:
Happy Birthday, Dad!
The strange object on the ground was forgotten as the family pressed me back toward the house, where the women hurried to set the table.
Wait, Dad, wait, Elizabeth said, May I blindfold you?
Alright, go ahead, I replied. She tied a sturdy cloth around the back of my head and spun me a few times before leading me somewhere.
What have you got this time? I asked, halfamused, halfnervous.
A little present, James said, gesturing toward a covered frame.
Hope its not too pricey, I worried. I dont need anything.
Dont worry, old man, Edward chimed, Its just a modest token of our appreciation.
They guided me to the tarpaulin, and Elizabeth gently removed the blindfold. A booming soundtrack erupted from speakers, drums thundering. Standing before me, three of the grandchildren tugged at the covering, pulling it away in unison.
In the glare of the floodlights shone a gleaming 1955 Jaguar XK150, its polished chrome catching the light like a mirror. I nearly fainted from the shock, staggering before they steadied me and helped me onto a chair.
Good heavens, good heavens, I kept repeating.
Calm down, Dad, Elizabeth splashed a little water on my face, laughing. Youve always wanted this car.
Its far too expensive, I protested.
Its not more than the price of a few nights out, James replied.
Come on, sit in the drivers seat. We want to take some photos.
I opened the door, but inside the cabin lay a plain cardboard box.
Whats that? I asked.
Open it, Elizabeth urged.
Inside the box were two bright eyes looking up at me. I pulled out a tiny, fluffy kitten and pressed it to my chest.
A proper little terrier! Just like the one Margaret and I had remember Bomby? You loved that thing when you were a lad.
Of course we remember, Dad, the children said in unison.
I never got into the Jaguar. Instead I climbed the stairs to my upstairs bedroom and placed the kitten beside a photograph of Margaret. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Do you see, Margaret? Do you see? Ive managed. They havent forgotten you Do you see? I whispered to the picture.
The family didnt let me sit in solitude for long. The table downstairs was laid out, and toasts began. Elizabeth leaned close and whispered that she was four months pregnant and that she and her fiancé were coming to stay. She would remain here, especially since her new novel could be written anywhere, and her fiancé would soon travel to his parents in New England before they wed in the village church.
Are you okay with that, Dad? she asked.
It feels like a dream, I answered, kissing her forehead.
The evening passed in laughter, food, drinks, and reminiscences. Later I walked to Margarets grave, sat for a long while, and spoke to her as if she were still beside me. Life was beginning to take on a new meaning, especially with that classic car in the yard I could finally buy a proper suit, hop in, and drive to the nearby city.
On the bed, the little kittenTompurred contentedly.
Tom, I said, repeating his name. He stretched his tiny body and settled into a soft purr. I stroked his warm belly and drifted to sleep.
Morning came early, as always. Pigs needed feeding, the garden required tending, and the river still called for a fishing line. Downstairs, Elizabeth and her fiancé slept. The boys and their families had left for the day, leaving the house quiet. Tom followed me everywhere, once slipping into the pig trough and getting tangled in a net on the boat, then trying to nibble fish feed. I laughed, patting his head.
Feels like Im young again, I told the mischievous kitten, scratching behind his ear.
He mewed and clamped his tiny claws onto my hand.
Ah, you little rascal! I chuckled.
This story is nothing more than a reminder to anyone who can still visit their parents: dont wait for tomorrow. Drive home now.
Lesson learned: the true gifts in life are not material things or milestones, but the love and presence of family, however unexpected the delivery may be.
