Posted on April 9th, 2013
t rained this morning, the day of Roy turns 10.
A rainy morning is not an inauspicious event in the desert—even Roy knows this. At least, it seemed like he did when he woke me up at 4:15 to tell me about it. I feel like we’ve been seeing him about this time of day since he entered the world, give or take 10 minutes or so. He likes to get a jump on things.
Roy is not particularly pleased that his birthday falls on a weekday again, with all of the obligations that come with it. (“But do I have to go to French? What? But why? It’s my birthday!”) I hope these doughnuts will offer some solace to him when his thoughts return again to the calendar’s cruel dictates.
It is no small undertaking to celebrate the life of a person with such a natural bent for teasing out every possible excuse for merry-making every blessed day. I’m not looking for sympathy, mind you (well, maybe a little), but imagine trying to curb the creative enthusiasm for celebratory self-expression of someone who authentically does not understand the constraints placed upon their independent manufacture of happy fun times by things like time and money?
Wait, you don’t have to imagine it—I’ll just tell you: it’s exhausting.
But if I, in one panicked moment or another, fear I might become submerged entirely in his joie de vivre, I have only myself to blame. Because while Roy’s vision for celebration is certainly epic, it is never reserved for his plans alone; he is open to your suggestions, too. There is room in his great big heart even for your sweet ideas, the ones that don’t involve digging for gold or driving out of state to visit a friend who moved away.
“It doesn’t matter,” he will say, pleasantly. “You can decide.”
His is a singular soul that merits fete-ing, a personality in tireless search of adventure and its fruits: discovery and joy. This is why I really feel pressure in the making of a birthday for our Roy: I want so much to get it right.∗