Sunny Days I Thought Would Never End

Literary cliches are unimaginative, but they're true. One of the clearest is a novel where the weather is mild, and the sun is shining. Typically this is a metaphor for sweet, nice things.

Yesterday was a sunny day in my house. Wifey and I woke early, and set up a breakfast party for D2, who turned 16. I hung a "SWEETSIXTEEN" banner on the front porch without falling off of the ladder, and I went to Publix to pick up the cake, fruit and vegetable platters, and two dozen pink balloons. As I was walking through the parking lot trailing the balloons in the breeze, a young Black man stage whispered to his friend "Look --it Mary Poppins." We all laughed.

The crepe maker we hired arrived, as did 15 of D2's gorgeous young friends. Football coaches have a saying about, ultimately, how much one can train an athlete: "You can't coach speed." A corolary to that applies to physical beauty "You can't coach youth."

The girls giggled and chatted, while D2, blessed with the ability to slumber deeply, slept on.

At about 11 we all crowded into her room, and the girls pounced on her, shouting "happy birthday!" D2 was disoriented, but quickly came around, and we all went to the porch and enjoyed Franz the crepemaker's custom creations.

D1 taped the whole affair, and it truly seemed that the Miami sun was shining even more brightly than usual on this assemblage.

Later in the afternoon, several folks called to send their birthday wishes, including a precious version of happy birthday sung and left on the answering machine by D2's cousin's two enchanting daughters.

At 230 D2 and I drove D1 to the airport, and they exchanged tearful goodbyes. D2 drove home --she gets her license on Wednesday, and I'm already steeling myself for many hours of worrying about a second teen driver.

But those clouds of anxiety can wait, along with the darkness that's a part of every life.

This morning I'm still savoring a day that was, cliches and all, in the sunshine.