Birthdays

Midvale is a small town. Everybody knows pretty much everybody else. Oh, there's a fair amount of crossover between Midvale, Shiloh, and Keenstown, and even folks with a Stoneford address who live on the outskirts tend to travel in the same circles.

Which means that just about every group of kids has a corresponding group of younger siblings who are also friends. This can result in a small army showing up for any gathering, especially birthday parties, but it also means the kids can generally entertain themselves with little adult facilitation.

It also means that the older kids tend to develop their own relationships with the adults. After all, when something needs doing, most adults will ask the oldest kids to round up the younger ones, who in turn round up the little ones, and so on down the line.

The unfortunate consequence is that the older kids sometimes become a little too comfortable joining adult conversations. They'll jump right in, full of confidence, despite being wildly ignorant of the subject under discussion.

That's what happened when one of the Bandaides' vice presidents came by to drop his daughter off to celebrate my youngest's birthday.

He hadn't been out to the house before, and we live a fair way back off the road. When he finally made it up the driveway, he climbed out of the truck and looked around.

"I wasn't entirely sure I had the right place," he said. "I kept expecting to hear banjo music."

I nodded. "I can appreciate that. We got lucky when we were looking to build. Nobody really wanted the lot."

He waved as David, my oldest, came walking up.

"But I love it," I continued. "Can't see the neighbors, and it only had one perc."

My oldest stopped.

"What was it?"

"What was what?"

"The one perk."

"Yeah," I said. "The perc."

"No, what was the perk?"

"That it had one."

He looked at me. "Right, one what?"

"Perc," I said.

At this point, the vice president was laughing. Not loudly, but enough that I knew he understood exactly what was happening. That meant it was time to lean in.

My oldest shook his head. "Okay. Let me get this straight."

"Go ahead."

"You said there was a perk."

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"The perc."

"That's what I'm asking."

"That's what I said. The perc."

"The perk?"

"Yes!"

He stared at me for a moment, trying to decide whether I was being deliberately obtuse. Then, finally, he said exactly what I'd been hoping he'd say.

"I don't know."

"THIRD BASE!" the vice president and I shouted together.