21

Well, here I am. I made it!

Despite the sometimes overwhelming speculation that I would die or be incarcerated before I even managed to reach the legal drinking age – commonly interjected, in tones of woe and lamentation, into my enthusiastic narration of certain reckless exploits – I have, in fact, officially survived to the ripe old age of twenty-one. I know, I know; everyone else is just as surprised.

There were pies and cakes and sticky buns and pumpkin muffins. I got to take a nap. Michael and Kyle and I played with our bubble wands, which were the best WalMart impulse buy ever, before the evening Mass and covered Father Mike’s car with soap rings; and after Mass, my mother treated me to a spectacular ham and cheese grinder.

On a side note, speaking of spectacular things, the love of my life happens to be an impossibly brilliant gift-giver and bought me a ukulele for my birthday. How freaking cool is that? (My high school tech director commented, “I can think of no one more suited to become a ukulele master.” I have no plans to disappoint.)

I also received sidewalk chalk, bass guitar strings, a US military-issue Russian language primer from the 1950s, the three most perfectly-drawn bunnies to exist in the known world, and a particularly talented cover of the Beatles’ “Happy Birthday”, among many other delightful things.

As far as the coveted “first drink” goes, my mother and I had plans to get margaritas (like the girls we are) during my birthday dinner at Applebee’s, but in a mysterious twist of fate, their water main broke and they were closed all of Saturday night. In my opinion, having grinders at Mancino’s with my family and John was much better.

By the end of the night, I had caught my death of cold during an unexpected appearance at a bachelor party (where I was propositioned with a plastic red cup full of dubious alcoholic matter, which I promptly passed off to someone braver than myself), but that is neither here nor there.

I received perhaps the best gift of all on Sunday, when John and Brad and I went to the Sunday traditional Irish music session at McFadden’s. We don’t make it down there very often, but when we do, it’s always an amazing time.

I had my first raspberry mojito and my first uke lesson. Let me tell you, it was pretty comical to be standing in the corner of a fairly well-populated bar, learning to play “You Are My Sunshine” on the ukulele. I was happier, still, to bring my fiddle into the company of such fine musicians and learn everything from them that I could. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful night; especially when we ended the session with “Be Thou My Vision”.

There are no words to explain the way God has blessed me for these last twenty-one years. I could try – and I have – but it would just sound strained and cheesy. Trust me. Suffice it to say that I have the best friends and family that anyone could ever ask for, and my life has been filled with laughter.

…and this is only the beginning!

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