Some years ago in early May, I received a telephone call from my mother. This was not unusual, but what she announced stunned me. She prefaced her call with the question, “Are you sitting down?” I grabbed the first chair in sight.

Mother proceeded to tell me in a roundabout way how this year’s birthday celebration for my father would be different from whatever my siblings and I had secretly planned. Her lengthy explanation finally reached its conclusion. Our father’s great-niece Betty, a niece none of us had ever met, wrote a letter saying she and her family were planning their first trip from Seattle to the East Coast. They hoped to meet my parents and tour the childhood home of her grandmother. Mother reminded me how fond Betty’s grandmother was of us when she traveled from Seattle for a visit. I reminded my mother I did not remember Betty’s grandmother since I was a young child at the time. Undeterred, my mother proceeded to unfold her plan of welcome for Betty.

After hearing more details, our telephone conversation ended. I telephoned my sister who had already received “the call” from our mother. To say we were disappointed with our mother’s changing our plans for our father’s birthday would be an understatement. Married, with careers and children, we had moved many miles from home, and our visits to see our parents became complicated but more urgent with each passing year and special occasion.

July arrived and so did my siblings and I, along with an entourage of cousins and children for the revised birthday celebration and Betty welcome. At dinner the night before, my father, a proper gentleman, asked my sister and me to dress appropriately for the arrival tomorrow of his great niece—dresses or skirts but no shorts or slacks. Our parents’ large Victorian home, with a wrap-around porch, partially screened-in, provided the perfect place to catch a summer breeze, if there was one. My mother wanted everyone to sit on the porch, allowing parents to observe their children playing under an umbrella of trees in the front yard. My father worried about rain ruining outdoor activities, forcing everyone indoors, and placing added responsibility on my mother. Despite our frustration with the turn of events, my sister and I said we would assist our mother as needed.

The big day dawned, sunny, hot, and humid without a hint of a breeze. My brother snapped a photo that morning of my sister, a cousin, and me with more cousins in the background. Before lunch, Betty and her family arrived, surprised to be met by a tangle of relatives. It seemed our mother, who went into elaborate detail when discussing mundane subjects, never told Betty we were celebrating our father’s 80^th birthday. And, of course, Betty and her family arrived dressed in shorts appropriate for the sweltering summer weather, while my sister and I melted dressed in blouses and skirts. Celebratory photographs were taken and Betty appeared in every one, standing next to my father. My mother, sister, brother, and I appeared in none of the birthday pictures.

Later in the afternoon, my sister and I, looking like wilted lettuce, sat next to each other on the porch awaiting a breeze that never arrived while awaiting the departure of Betty who we wished never to see again. We pouted and pondered plans for our father’s 81^st birthday—you guessed it—the canceled 80^th celebration…without Betty. Did we inform our mother of our plans? No, we decided to instigate our own summer surprise!

Editors Note:  Nancy Bryans is a regular contributor to Cape Fear Voices and our new Social Media Coordinator