W. Curt Vincent
Editor
There was a birthday party last weekend for a young man who had just turned 5.
He was the son of a friend and his name was Joseph. Not Joe. Not Joey. Just Joseph.
I know that only because I heard him say it probably 25 times that day.
“Happy birthday, big guy,” someone would say.
“I’m Joseph,” he would reply.
A few minutes later, it happened again.
“Happy birthday, little Joey.”
“I’m Joseph.”
On and on it went. There was another “big guy,” a “chief,” a “kiddo” and a “mister man.” I probably missed a few along the way, but with each one the response was always a very serious “I’m Joseph.”
This is a young man — a little guy, really — with a preppy heart. He was even rocking a pastel green shirt with the alligator and tan cargo pants with sandals. And once in a while, I caught him standing off to the side with a hand in his pocket, quietly watching the goings-on.
“That’s Joseph for you,” my friend would say. “He saw some television show that had a young boy who acted just like that. Can’t recall the name of the show, but it sure caught his attention.”
Just as I was nodding, the youngster’s thoughts were interrupted by another birthday greeter.
“Don’t you look handsome, little buddy,” an older man said to him.
“I’m Joseph … and thank you.”
You’d think the child would be getting frustrated with having to correct people all the time, but he wasn’t. In fact, it was almost like he took great pride in announcing to each individual that his name was Joseph.
Perhaps it was because each of those people came bearing gifts for him.
Oh, and there’s those gifts. My curiosity took over and I just had to get a glimpse of what the name was on each one. I looked at several and, wouldn’t you know it, there wasn’t a “Joseph” among the pile. There was even one that simply had “J.”
But when it came time for Joseph to rip into those packages, I don’t think he even took a moment to see the name on them. He knew they were all for him, so that wrapping paper was destroyed within milliseconds.
Cake and ice cream was next, but first there was the necessary “Happy Birthday Song,” and it was a mess. The lyrics went just fine until it was time for the “happy birthday to …”
Some had learned their lesson from earlier and belted out a loud “Joseph,” but a few still hung on to their “Joe” or “Joey.”
Joseph noticed, too. But he passed on giving another announcement of his name.
By the way, there WERE several other children at the party. Each of them already knew or had been schooled that the birthday boy’s name was Joseph, so there wasn’t any drama there at all. Joseph even had no problem sharing his newly gotten gifts, including the giant bubble-making wand I brought him.
But drama was soon to arrive.
I was alerted to it by my buddy’s wife, who happened to be standing next to me as we watched Joseph and his friends play.
“Uh-oh … here we go,” she said.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It’s his grandmother,” I was told. “She has never called him Joseph and it makes him crazy.”
“Oh,” I replied and settled in for the show.
It didn’t take long for the curtain to go up.
“Happy, happy birthday Joey Num-Num!” the grandmother blurted out about the noise.
“It’s something different every time,” Joseph’s mom said.
Joseph, perhaps because he’d heard so many variations already — from the guests and his grandmother —he almost didn’t seem to hear it. He just gave his grandmother a hug and said “thank you.” Then went back to his friends.
This was one smooth child.
After all, he was Joseph … Jr. to be exact.
W. Curt Vincent can be reached at 910-506-3023 or [email protected].