You were born to poor parents. We once pushed you to the IGA in a stroller for a can opener that we went home without because our bank note showed less than $2 to our name. We lived in a bed-and-breakfast, with one meager red room to call our "own." I got up early every morning, breastfed you under the stairs, then tied on a white apron and cooked breakfast for 10-20 people. Your daddy was busy learning about the L0RD and how much he loves us and what he has planned for the world.
Now, my son, you are 6, and you dream of flying helicopters and reforming governments and traveling to distant galaxies. You get lost in books. You laugh uproariously at the antics of Winnie the Pooh, and Tom and Jerry. You love to eat salad and mashed potatoes with large cuts of juicy meat. You are a real gentleman, my son, and the makings of a hero. Shoot for the moon, I tell you!
And now here is the birthday party we threw for you. Only boys and men were invited. The theme was "Man on the Moon," in honor of your love for space and all things related.
I made a moon cake,
I dressed the table, and Daddy hung the streamers and balloons. Your dad is the world's best streamer-er. In his words, "Three years on student council paid off."
and some visitors from outer space,
I took my leave so the machismo could flow. Apparently you had a lot of fun.
HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY BRIGHT! We love you so much.