A Family Occasion

There were no cards, cakes or parties. I remember clootie dumplings but not for anyone in particular. There may have been a thripny piece or a sixpence wrapped in wax paper in the dumpling. Whoever found it was just lucky. Being your birthday didn't guarantee the prize. We went to live with my grandparents when I was eight. No dumplings after that. I never felt deprived. Nobody I knew celebrated birthdays either. No place for sissy English stuff like that in our Scottish childhood.

For years I understood my birthday was on New Year's Eve. For the bans to be called in the parish church a Certificate of Baptism had to be provided. Seems I was christened three weeks before I was born. It took a while to discover how that happened. Aunt Jean told me the night before we left for Canada.

Seems my birth was not registered within the legal limit. To avoid the fine and, necessity being the mother of invention, my father simply lied and moved the date forward a month.

My children were adults before my real birthday was known.. I've always felt a bit of a fraud about it. If I couldn't be sure of the date, should I be accepting gifts and good wishes? First it was New Year's Eve and lost in whatever else was happening. Then it was close to Christmas and lost in that hubbub. This year it fell on a weekday. A gathering could have been the weekend before or the one after. I wasn't giving it much thought.

I had been asked earlier if I wanted a big to-do. "Absolutely not" I said. We own up to the day but numbers are not mentioned in my presence. I spend minimal time in front of a mirror. I avoid my reflection in plate glass windows when crossing the street. Every day I wake up feeling not a day older than the day before. Why should the world know my calender years?Less said, the better for my equilibrium.

I did not find it strange to be at the Bondhead Golf Club on Sunday afternoon. Heather Sisman had said she found a deal online. Two- for- one Brunch. She always finds deals. She scored hundreds of dollars of free groceries at the Dominion Stores when they were Fresh Obsessed. In the driveway approach, I commented it would be odd if son Frank was there with Lorna. I dismissed the thought. they recently moved to Hockley Valley. Why would they drive all that way for brunch on a Sunday?

So I rounded a corner unsuspecting. There was a scurry of little people. Familiar faces. What's this, I thought, somebody having a party and didn't invite me? Then I was in the room. Son Frank, Bryan Cousineau,the best Police Chief York region ever had, Ron Wallace and his new wife Pat were at the door with beaming smiles .The big beautiful room with a fire in the hearth and festooned with Christmas greenery and sparling ornaments was crowded with people I love.

“Did I not say this birthday was to be a secret?” I intoned . And it was indeed. But only to me. As it was for the first twenty-one years of my life.

All of my children were there, Stephen and Mary, Frank and Lorna, Martin and Marnie, Theresa, Heather and Andy, Mark and Storm and Andrew and Rhonda. Lindsay and Scott came with her two beautiful little girls, Cheyanne and Abigayle – my great granddaughters.

Vanessa was there, expecting twins. James is in Seattle working to bring them there, but not for a while. Patrick, the artist took time off from work and the long bus ride from Ottawa. Cameron, who missed the bus from London for Myles' July wedding in Ottawa , was there. Rory, Theresa's boy, and Mark, son of Mark and Storm, brought young ladies to join the clan. Stephanie the actress came from school in Guelph. Partner Eric was in Sudbury and we missed him.

Quiet, graceful, tall and slim Meghan glided in the wake of cousin Robyn, she of the amazing red hair and freckles and many talents who may go to France as an exchange student in the spring. Ryan sat at the bar, drank pop and chatted to the bartender. He was joined occasionally by cousin Hayley, she of exceedingly droll humour.

Young Michael joined Adam, Patrick, Keenan, Aaron and Cameron, all recently finished school, all with lots to share in lively conversation.

Lizzie the feminist and most likely politician, at school in Peterborough, was missing and missed. Myles, son of Mary and Stephen was also absent, as was his wife Melissa.

Friends of almost fifty years, Mary and John were there as were Margaret and Doug, with whom I share four grandchildren.

Grace Marsh and husband Bren, Alison Collins-Mrakas and Tim Jones, Ron and Pat - friends and comrades at arms, shared a glimpse of my life outside politics.

They were a merry throng but none more than myself. Being together in that place made it a momentous occasion. I shed no tears then but I do now as I tell the tale. I am more fortunate than any person has a right to be. May they always know how much I love them and how proud I am of each and every one.