Not to be a cliche...

...But my best birthday ever was probably my 16th birthday. However, the circumstances were anything but cliche.

April was a crazy month for my family. The 1st was the the date of my operation to place two screws in my leg in order to hold my kneecap in place. I then took up residence in the downstairs living room, was stuck on crutches, and was then told I would not be able to walk on my own for my birthday on the 30th.

Why did I pick this as my best birthday? Because my family and friends made it the best. For school, my mom tied balloons to my crutches and one of my friends smuggled away cookies meant for a bake sale. A group of friends and I ate said cookies in Algebra and laughed our way through the math. After school, everyone piled into the car and took the party to my house. We watched movies, ate gourmet chocolate cake, raced (read: crashed) on Mario Kart Wii, and had a great time.

It may not have been on par with the parties on MTV, but I bet you that I had more fun than any of those heiresses. A giant ball with hundreds of invitees does not an awesome party make- a group of people who love you do.

So I could have told you about my tenth birthday when I competed in a horse show prior to heading to the shooting range to fire some guns with my dad, one friend, and his dad. . . But that can wait. The story of 16 was much more heartwarming.

Iris Black is the author of Just One of the Guys (now on Kindle) and can be found at any number of places, including Sam's Space, Facebook, and Twitter.

You Go For the Dancing!

Prom when I was a junior was full of good news and bad news.

Good news: I had a date (my super cute boyfriend), a killer dress, and no curfew to interfere with the after party.

Bad news: My knee was toast, surgery imminent, and dancing was a major question mark.

If I could even attend Prom was a big question when they scheduled my surgery for the Monday before the Saturday night event.

The good news was they could fix the knee - the bad news was they weren't sure what would be required. The good news, I had the best surgeon in the state - he worked on all the college football players so the man knew his knees (and mine too, I hoped). The bad news, (way back at the beginning of the Bronze age) this new thing called arthroscopy might find a more serious, involved problem.

I was determined to know if I would dance on Saturday. No one could tell me until after they went into the knee. Grrr. But not having the surgery guaranteed NO dancing. More grrr.

I won't bore you with the gory details of pre-op (where my dad totally embarrassed me by asking the surgeon if I'd be ready for spring training)...or post op where I embarrassed myself by asking repeatedly if I'd be going to prom.

Suffice it to say I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday rehabbing my knee, making sure I could walk properly without staring at my feet and planning my hairstyle for the big night.

By Saturday there was only good news: I was walking well, we had a great time, and we danced and danced and danced.

My prom memories are second to none - I hope you enjoy yours!
Regan
author of Pixie Chicks and the Shadows of Justice series available from Echelon Press.
by the way, that's a Renoir called Dance at Bougival