A long time ago, in a galaxy far away.....

Kid Wars: Episode 7: The Birthday Cake.

I think it was my seventh birthday, but I cannot be sure. All I remember was that it was the year in which two very important lessons were learned. These lessons were taught by the same thing (card-carrying member of the overachievers club), but learned by two people: my mother and me.

Lesson #1: Having an affinity for my mother's rhubarb pie - and if you've ever had Mom's rhubarb pie, you know how good it is - my father posed to me a question concerning my birthday cake. "Would you rather have cake, or rhubarb pie?" he asked. This is NEVER a good situation to put a child in, much less a child whose obvious love of sweets showed as much as mine did. The answer was clear, and so my mother learned an important lesson: Never let my father ask me a tough question. My simple answer was "Rhubarb cake!!!!" Well, hey, if one thing is good, then putting that thing together with another good thing can't possibly be bad, can it???? I was young, and did not realize what I was asking.

As the story goes, my mother, now in a frenzy because my father just HAD to go and ask a seven-year-old Fat Kid THIS question, had to search through every recipe book she had in order to find anything remotely resembling the hopes of her youngest son. This was in the days before Al Gore invented the internet, so it wasn't like she could pop the suggestion into her favorite search engine and it would all be well. Her search was tireless, and her efforts finally yielded a recipe she could serve. She was very proud of herself - as well she should have been. I had asked the impossible, and she found a way to make it happen.

Lesson #2: When you get what you ask for, don't ever, EVER complain. Especially if the superhero of the moment is your mother and you're a seven-year old boy. The day came, and I was excited as ever. It was MY day. It was awesome. And every birthday culminated in the best part: the cake! I was going to have a special cake this year: my rhubarb cake. The lights were dimmed, and Mom came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with seven gleaming candles lighting up her proud face and the rest of the room. I could not see it that well....until it was laid down in front of me, and there, on the table was rhubarb upside-down cake. WITH NO FROSTING! (Lesson #2 is also called, "do not deprive a Fat Kid of his frosting")

I do not remember whether I blew out the candles first or not, but I do remember throwing the temper tantrum because there was no frosting on the cake, and all cakes are supposed to have frosting. I refused to eat the cake my mother had worked so hard to make. The cake I asked for. I believe I then remember my father sitting my butt in the chair (never forcefully, but firmly enough that I knew I was not to move my posterior until he said it was ok)and telling me how hard my mother worked to find that cake recipe and that I had to eat it....and THEN, I had to go to my mother (because her preciosu little snowflake of a seven-year old just completely crushed her) and apologize. It was a rather - non-climactic - ending to my birthday.

This story has become one of those "family legends" that have been told a thousand times over the years. Each telling seems to make my mother work harder, and seven-yr-old me that much more obnoxious, somehow, but it's still one of those family favorites that rears its head every once in a while.

But all those out there in Blogland might be wondering: why is the Fat Kid telling us this story?? Because, dear readers: after an absolutely lovely steak dinner (with baked potatoes, zucchini, fresh-picked beats, and mushroom sauce) my mother comes out onto the back deck where we were eating, carrying a tray. On it, as she sings happy birthday, a rhubarb upside-down cake. She learned the lesson well - for frosting she produced a can of Reddi-Whip. It was wonderful, delicious, and more than I could have ever hoped for. I thought I would be ready for just about anything she might try and pull. I was not ready for this. Thanks, Mom. You pulled one over on me.

If I could go back and tell seven-year-old me how to answer that question posed by my father....I don't think I would tell him anything, and I hope he would answer the same way: "Rhubarb cake!!!!"

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid