Yesterday (Aug. 13) would have been my grandfather’s 101st birthday. This did occur to me yesterday, and I thought about mentioning it, but the thought went in one side of my brain and out the other.
I’m throwing up a quick post today because a day late and a dollar short seems better than nothing.
Today’s calendar entry focuses on what might have been one of my grandfather’s more memorable birthdays, and not because it ended with a zero or a five.
It is Aug. 13, 1971, and my grandfather is celebrating his first birthday after his heart attack three-and-a-half months earlier (the one referenced in last Monday’s post.) My parents and my infant older brother are in Stamford to join the celebration.
Aug. 13, 1971. 58 additional candles not shown.
Teutonic stoicism tends to dominate the proceedings in my family. Cards get kept close to the vest. In keeping with that, it’s possible that this birthday celebration was no more outwardly emotional than any other.
Still, I imagine that everyone around the table was especially grateful that year to have the guest of honor present, even if they might not have come out and said so.
The real celebration that year was not about a single birthday, but about the gift of continuing life. And that’s pretty much the best gift you can have, any day of the year.
Tune in tomorrow for our regularly scheduled post.
Hope Street 
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