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fourteenth birthdayThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by mick beville | |
| Friday, 06 June 2008 | |
The birthday present
It was my fourteenth birthday and there was a surprise present waiting inside the house for me. I had expected to receive a card from granddad with possibly a ten bob note inside. Being the third eldest of ten children all my previous birthdays had received only the barest of lip service. Today was different. Today the entire household had been gathered in the front room to surprise the birthday boy. It was with hindsight a well-orchestrated affair that had much more to it than my birthday. Wrapped in brown paper, tied with string and laid on the bare wood dinner table the child's coffin sized box had an uneasy presence about it. There was an obvious expectation that I would be excited, but ‘uneasy' would have better described my mood. The faces gawped as I approached the table. Sitting on the top of the box there was a large brown envelope. I hesitated. "Go on lad, open it" prompted Uncle Alfred. I didn't know why I felt uncomfortable, but I opened the card and read it to myself. Happy birthday to Michael from Mam and Uncle Alfred. "Read it out loud lad" he continued. I turned and looked to mam who appeared out of place standing next to him. I took a deep breath before nervously reading the card out loud and as soon as I'd finished the whole room sang happy birthday. It was while they were singing that dad squeezed passed me and without making any eye contact he disappear up the bedroom stairs. At first I thought that he had gone to bring me another present, but then I noticed Uncle Alfred looking at me mam with a big smug grin on his face. "Come on lad open the box. Me and your mam paid ten pounds for that present and the least you can do is open it." Paralyzed between feelings of excitement and foreboding I stood and watched as Uncle Alfred stepped forward and ripped the string and brown paper from the box to reveal literally, ‘a wooden box.' I lifted the lid from the box to find it filled with carpentry tools. A big cross cut saw almost as long as the box. A tenon saw, a bit and brace, a wooden mallet, a wooden yard rule, a set square, loads of screwdrivers and wood chisels as well as pinchers and pliers. The chisels and pliers were smeared in grease and wrapped in greaseproof paper. I was starting to get a little excited; this was a serious present. But as the hoo-ha was fading, I discovered that there wasn't a claw hammer: ‘You can't have a carpenter's tool box without a claw hammer. Along side a saw it's the most important tool.' Uncle Alfred had disappeared about this time and I said to me mam. "I don't want to sound ungrateful mam but there isn't a claw hammer in the box." She put my mind straight at ease or so she thought as she naively announced. "Uncle Alfred borrowed it to bang some nails at his rag and bone yard in Otley Road. I bit my tongue but my mind exploded. ‘The miserable... low life... mongrel... ******* scheming prick.' I couldn't find the words, but I knew that very moment, I hated him. I hated him with a passion that only hate can deliver. It would take less than six months for the rest of the carpentry tools to find their way to his shop.
For some time after that day I would live with the notion that the whole drama had been about the birthday present.
Copyright 2008 mick beville |
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| Last Updated ( Saturday, 07 June 2008 ) |
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