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The Birthday Box

 

 


I am not what you’d call a pack rat. I would be the complete opposite of that. Not sure what that would be exactly, Um…A Pygmy maybe? I have a feeling I’m wrong. You, know one of those dudes who moves all the time from place to place with their like, tribes? Not a roaming gnome although that would work too I guess. I’m a little too tall to be a gnome. Gnomes are more of a Brian, Howie and AJ thing.

 

Nomad! That’s it. I’m a nomad, although I’m not sure if they keep things like pack rats. I mean they do travel a lot but that doesn’t mean they don’t hoard things. So, I guess I couldn’t really say a Nomad is the opposite of a pack rat. And we’re not even really talking about moving around a lot we’re talking about saving useless shit. Well, fuck me; I have no idea what I am. Let’s just go with a guy who doesn’t like to keep things.

 

Yes, I am the one who throws everything away. You give me a card and you might as well address it to my garbage can. I don’t read them and they don’t do anything for me. They’re just words that you didn’t even come up with yourself. I know I sound like a horrible person, but at least I’m being honest, right? And it’s not like I throw away the crap I’m given right in front of you. True, when I was younger I used to do that but one day Kevin pulled me aside and lectured me for about a half hour on how maybe the fans who loved and adored me might take offense to seeing me take a stuffed animal they paid money for and put a great deal of thought into, thrown right back at the audience just seconds after I receive it.

 

My main argument back then was, if they put that much thought into it, why would they pick a stuffed bunny? What about me screams stuffed bunnies? Now, that I’m older I realize that a stuffed animal represents so much more to the girls. They give me what they love, not what I love. Otherwise they would have thrown Playboys and videogames at me all the time.

 

Did I have a point to all of this? Ah yes….The one thing I have kept all these years.

 

It’s my birthday box.  When I was little, it was the size of a kid’s shoe box. As I have grown in size, so has the box. I took it out of my closet just last night and realized that once again I’ll have to upgrade.

 

So here I sit, on the floor of my living room going through this little piece of history. Let me explain…

 

Probably one of the only mom type things my mother has ever done for me was start this tradition when I was 5 years old. After blowing out all the birthday candles on my cake, she handed me this small box all wrapped up. Of course when I tore into it only to find it empty I started crying like a spoiled brat. But seriously, who gives a five year old an empty box for his birthday? My parents, that’s who. Yup, that was the first sign that because of my upbringing, I’d need therapy one day.

 

Between the tears, my mother explained to me that this was my first birthday box. I was to pick one thing that made my day special and place it in this box. Only one thing, and then write a few sentences explaining why and seal it up and not look at it again until my next birthday. She said it’s something her family has done for years and now she was passing it on to me.

 

I refused to put any of my toys in that box the first year so I settled for a birthday candle. You know one of those big ones that is just the number of the year you are turning. I took it out of the box and looked at the big five. “My 5 birfday” was what the small note said. I had to laugh at my cuteness even back then.

 

I had the most random things in that very first box. A small piece of tablecloth to celebrate the first party I had with kids my age. A chicken bone from birthday 8, my dog almost chocked to death right in front of us. An empty goody bag from birthday 9 and a small plastic toy soldier that Aaron stuck in his nose which ended in a trip to the emergency room on birthday number 10. I still haven’t forgiven him for that one!

 

The second one was also a shoe box but that time it was my father’s and much bigger. That box held most of my adolescence. A plastic wrapper off of a comic book my uncle had given me. I refused to give up the book to the box but the wrapper was just as good. A half smoked cigarette. I tried smoking for the very first time on birthday number 11 and it did not go as planned. I held up my reminder of birthday 12, probably the first thing that meant anything real to me. It was a seashell given to me by my first love. Ask me what her name was and I wouldn’t be able to tell you, but at the time there was no doubt in my mind I was going to marry this girl. “This shell represents the girl of my dreamz. She be rockin!” Wow, I was so poetic back then.

 

The next few trinkets were from my early Backstreet Days which then needed a bigger box. So, I switched to a regular standard sized packing box. The first autograph I ever signed on my birthday was in there. Yes, I signed it and yes I then asked for it back! Don’t worry; I gave her a new one. The first present I ever got from a fan, can you guess what it was? I’ll give you a hint; it wasn’t a playboy or a videogame! The first present Brian ever gave me, a pair of fuzzy dice for the day when I would have a car of my own. “Brian’s my best friend! He’s cool just like me!” Was all I had to say about that.

 

That box saw me through until Millennium and all the craziness. I’m not sure why I felt like it was important, but no matter where we were in the world for my birthday, I always found time to pick one thing and keep it aside so I could add it to my box when I got home.

 

The next few years were not good for the birthday box because they were not good ones for me. I was in a very dark place in my early to mid twenties. You can kind of tell because what I decided to keep for birthday number 20 was a homemade bong. I tried pot for the very first time when I was 19 and became a heavy duty pothead by the time I turned 20. A few friends and I sat in a circle and just passed the bong and ate some chocolate and that’s how that birthday was spent.

 

Birthday 21 was easy. I had a shot glass from the first bar I took a legal drink in. Kevin bought it for me and clapped me hard on the back after I gulped it down. “Welcome to manhood!” He had said as if that was the first drink I had ever had. He knew it wasn’t but we both pretended that it was for the sake of argument.

 

I held up an unopened box of condoms from birthday 22 and a pair of lacy red panties from number 23. Okay maybe I will not share the contents of this box with my children when and if I ever decide to have them.

 

A letter I had written myself for my 24th birthday given to me by Kevin who had kept it all these years, was the next thing I pulled from my pile. I always get a kick out of reading that letter. I was a funny little guy.

 

The next thing made me pause for a little bit. I always did the same thing every year when I got to this item, the empty bottle of sleeping pills. I had every intention of going out in style on birthday number 25. I was done with life and everything sucky it had to offer. I wasn’t even intending to write a suicide note. The embarrassed me wanted people to think it was an accident. Especially the boys because I didn’t even care about my family back then, in my mind I didn’t have a family back then. “I didn’t end things because of Howie.” I had written across the pill box. I was about to down the pills when he called to wish me a happy birthday. We talked for over an hour and by the end of the conversation I rethought my decision. I have never told him this and probably never will. I owe him my life.

 

A very cool belt I got from a fan was my keepsake for birthday 26. A paper full of lyrics was what represented birthday 27. I sat on my ass in my hotel room and just felt the need to write instead of party. I know that seems odd, that’s why it went in the box. My present from birthday 28 was a picture that Baylee drew for me. It said “Happy Birfday Uncle Nick!” I had to keep it, couldn’t resist!

 

Birthday 29 was a copy of a deed to this house. I love this place and I know I’ll spend a long time in it. It was a birthday present to me from me. Birthday 30, well what can I say about that. A big milestone birthday, so many things to choose from, it was hard to pick just one to place in this box. I went with the big 30 candle that was on one of the many birthday cakes I got! I put on the note, “This is for my 30 birfday!” I’m such a dork I know.

 

All these things, keepsakes of my life through the years, now all scattered on the floor ready to be put in a brand new and even bigger box. This time I am going with a plastic storage container. One of those big ones you use when you move. I do plan on having a very long life so I better get a box that matches that! I picked up all the memories and carefully put them in the green container, holding the 30 and smiling before it went in to join the rest.

 

Ah, but one more thing remained, the one thing that represented me today, the day I turn 31. I took out the receipt from my pocket and stared at it. Lauren told me she didn’t want a ring this big but I couldn’t resist. I mean how often do you ask someone to marry you?  How often do you find the love of your life? Sure it’s not a seashell, but hey, next best thing, right? I was tempted to ask her for the ring back after she put it on so I could place it in this box, but I decided I liked my nuts in tact. All I put on the note was, “And they lived happily ever After…”

 

I took a deep breath and placed the receipt in the box along with everything else, hoping that when I did this next year I would take it out and smile while my fiancée looked on. I was actually looking forward to showing her this box so she realized I could be as sentimental as the next guy. Of course we’ll leave out the fact that I threw out the card she gave me the second her back was turned. That’ll be our little secret.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

Thanks for reading and Happy Birthday Nick! I'll be right behind you! lol