On Sept. 12, Sat. eve., we had several families over for Philip's birthday. I let everyone choose what they want to do for their birthday. Philip wanted the Martins, the Kings, and the Planks over for a hot dog roast. We had hot dogs, baked beans, gourmet potatoes, macaroni salad, carrots, chips, and s'mores. The women sat together and caught up with each other and the men swapped stories. The kids played some sort of ball game out back and poker and Dutch Blitz after it was too dark to see. We built a fire out by the old house porch and enjoyed the contentment that comes from being with friends who have known each other for a long time.
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My Mother wrote a poem for Philip for his 11th birthday. Here goes:
WHO?
Who's loving and giving
And always forgiving
Who makes our living worthwhile?
Who's imaginative and quick
Who has a sharp wit
Whose stories bring an inquisitive smile?
Who likes to mime
To a short poem or rhyme
Who gives us our laugh for the day?
Whose sudden embrace
Whose kiss on the face
Makes all of our cares fade away?
Who's always wishing
That he could go fishing
Who's good at inventing a game?
Who's a gift of God's love
A blessing from above?
Philip, of course, is his name.
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