On Your Birthday, Dad

My father would have turned 72 today. While going through his and my mother's papers a few weeks ago, I found this birthday card given to him by his father. Fifteen dollars sat inside with the words "Love, Dad" below the rhyming sentiment. He would have received the card on some year between 1969 (the series year for both bills) and 1985 (the last birthday my dad would have celebrated with grandpa).

Wendy and I found a similar birthday card, years ago, from her great-grandmother to her grandfather with cash sitting inside. Both discoveries have bewildered me.

I wonder why they didn't spend the money to buy themselves a gift. Maybe they didn't want to put the money in their wallet for fear of using it accidentally to buy some necessity. I imagine they planned to go out someday and get something nice for themselves. Someday exists after the work day is over, and after the commute; after the family time, after the yardwork, after the errands and after the nap.

Eventually, this valuable little gift is shuffled among other papers and forgotten until it is discovered, years later, after all the somedays are all used up.

I'm going to spend this money today, dad, and think of you. Happy birthday, wherever you are.