The uninvited guest

The uninvited guest

I know I could have taken the lift to the third floor, but I chose to climb the stairs instead, ignoring the pain my knee. It gave me time to think about many things - the party I was about to join, the reason I was not invited, the reason for my decision to crash the party.

When I reached the door marked B-21, I rang the doorbell, wondering if it would be heard above the din of the loud music blaring inside the apartment. The door opened and I looked into the face of the stranger I had known for the past nineteen years. "Dad", he said, looking surprised. "Come on in". I stepped in and shook his hand. "Happy Birthday", I said. He said "thanks" again, and found a chair for me in the crowded room. Neither of us is a great conversationalist - at least not with each other. So he introduced me to some of his friends, and that was it. Then he moved across the room to a brightly dressed young man who had been waving to him.

Two of his friends came over to talk to me out of politeness. But beyond enquiring about their education, I had nothing else to say to them. So I sat by myself through most of the party, watching the celebrations of my son's nineteenth birthday, inevitably remembering the previous eighteen.

His birthday was the biggest celebration in the family every year, and since his childhood he had loved the parties. Decorating the house and preparing the colourful party invites had become a sort of family tradition. It did not seem so long ago that I was preparing his birthday party invitations, but now I was too old to receive one - none of the people in room could have been over 20 years of age, except me, of course.

For me the most exciting birthday was his first, I think to him it was the thirteenth. "I am thirteen today", he had announced proudly that day, "no longer a child". I did not see how a thirteen-year-old could be any more an adult then a twelve-year-old, but I do remember being enthused by his excitement.

This was the first time he had moved the party out of the house, but more upsetting for me was the fact that he had not asked me or his mom to come. Was it because of the quarrel we had had last month ?, I wondered.

After about an hour, many of his friends started to leave, and the music was turned down. My son pulled up a chair next to me, obviously feeling guilty about having left me alone most of the time. We talked shop for a while, and abruptly I asked the question that was bugging me. "Are you still angry with me ?" He seemed surprised by the sudden change of topic, but he replied quickly. "Of course not", he said, "I thought you were angry with me". "Is that why you did not invite me to the party?" I asked. "Yes", he admitted, "also because I thought you would get bored here, with my friends gang. You have nothing in common with them".

I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words for what I needed him to understand. "I do have something in common with your friends", I said, "You. I want to be with you on the occasions that are important to you, I want to see you when you are happy. It makes me happy too."

"Thanks, dad. I'm so glad you came", he said sincerely. I was delighted; that was all I wanted to hear. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you. I was planning to come home to dinner, though", he continued, "I told mom in the morning". I nodded.

"You should have told her a week ago", I told him.

"She can't cook dinner for a whole week", he said.

"She can plan it for a whole week. Your mom loves any kind of planning that involves you."

"I know", he said quietly.

He walked me to the door as I started to leave. "I will invite you to every one of my birthday parties, dad", he promised as I neared the door. "I'll attend every one of them, even if you don't invite me", I replied, smiling. He smiled back. It was a long time since we had smiled at each other; it felt wonderful.