My Seventh Birthday

Today is my birthday.  I'm 43.  This morning Kent asked me what I did on my birthdays when I was young, what I remembered.  Brandt will be seven on his next birthday (at the beginning of July), so I told them about my seventh birthday.  Like Brandt, I was just finishing up first grade.  I had a huge crush on a boy in our ward who was in sixth grade.  He was probably twelve.  I've always had a thing for older men.  I invited him to come to my birthday party (I've apparently always been fairly confident and not at all shy as well) and although I am certain he did not want to come AT ALL, his mother made him.  Not only that, she gave me a small photo album with his picture in it.  Isn't that wonderful!  I thought it was fantastic.  A picture of my crush.  I love that mom and want to be just like her.  That mom, by the way, was Marilyn Durrant.  Good woman.

The children thought this story was so funny, Brandt cried, "Tell it again!" and made me recount the whole thing immediately after I had finished.  I shared it again in the evening as family had pie and ice cream at my mom's house to celebrate.  When I mentioned how I had always had a thing for older men, I added, "He wasn't quite old enough though.  Only five years older than me.  Kent, how old were you when I was celebrating my seventh birthday?"  Quick calculation: Kent was 20 and on his mission.  We all laughed and laughed about that.  Kent, however, said, "I fail to see what's so funny about that."