For use: Friday, July 13, 2000 and thereafter

 

mfinley.com: "The Speech I Didn’t Make"

An essay for my friends

by Michael Finley

Copyright (c) 2000 by Michael Finley

I had a big party at my house this past weekend -- my fiftieth birthday party -- and it was enormous fun for me. About 70 people turned out on a very hot, very humid day to wish me well. People mingled, drank beer, laughed and told stories about me. Everything went perfectly, except one thing. Around 7 PM, my wife Rachel switched on a PA system and as Bob the pianist accompanied her, she sang an old love song to me in front of everyone -- "You Take My Breath Away."

Her singing was not what went wrong -- she sang beautifully and from the heart, and I sat and gazed up at her, dazed with love, and panting from the heat.

What went wrong was that, when she was finished, we hugged, people applauded, Rachel switched the PA system off and everyone quickly dispersed to the cold drinks.

You see, I had a speech, and I didn’t get to give it. I was a little afraid to give it, because I was sure I would forget the best parts. But now, dear reader, there is no way I'm going to forget it, because I'm writing it down, and I have all the time in the world to get it right. So here it is.

The Speech

People have asked me how it feels to be 50. I answer that it feels better than heading into my 40s, which had a ghastly aura of "peaking," and "prime." Now, looking in the mirror, I plainly see I am beyond my prime, and therefore entitled to a break here and there. I got my first AARP mailing a few weeks ago. Senior discounts, here I come.

But I feel good. Intellectually, to be a writer in your 50s is like doing anything else in your 40s -- we're a late-maturing bunch. As I look out into your faces, your eyes bright with friendship, and think of all the stories we have shared, I wish I could remember your names. 

I want to thank, first of all, my mom, who couldn’t be here today. That is to say, I asked her not to come, because the last two times she visited, she got very sick during the visit or immediately after. Much as I’d like to see her again, I didn't want to cause her such stress again. Mothers and birthdays are inextricably intertwined, of course, and a part of me wonders how much of a thrill it is to have a child reach 50. It isn’t like we're still cute and full of promise, like when we were babies. We're pretty appalling, in fact. But I feel her love anyway, and I thank her as best as words can -- for everything.

I want to thank my dad, who sent me a check for $50 -- a dollar for every year. Needless to say, a gift like that gets you thinking. If I get 50 for being 50, think what he'll send me when I'm 100? "Hey everybody, look what my dad sent!"

I thank my brothers Pat and Brian, who live in California, and for whom flying out here involved expense, schedule shuffling, and no small amount of anxiety. But here they are. When I figured out only a tenth of the people I invited were able to come, I was a little deflated. But then Pat and Brian indicated they would come, and I thought, the hell with everyone else. I love my brothers with all my heart, and I would give anything to see more of them, in any everyday way.  They're good husbands, good men, with good heads and good hearts. Sure, they've each had their bouts with the law, but that's just Finley high-spiritedness. Thank you, guys, and thank your wives Kathy and Nini for me for letting you be here today.

I thank my children Daniele, almost 16, and Jon, 12 -- my pride and joy, respectively -- for sticking with me and being good sports about this whole to-do. It is an perversion of nature for a parent to get all this attention and all these presents, and I thank them for their complicity in perversion. They are good people with big souls, and I love them so much it must be extremely annoying.

I thank Rachel's family for lending her to me, especially her brother Bruce and sister-in-law Susan McGuire, who made the trip up here from Chicago. When they were getting married, Bruce sought me out, and asked me what this whole Irish thing was about! It is always wonderful to see them.

I thank everyone who came here to be with me and to burn our candles at both ends. Later, you will all go home and think about the joy and fellowship we enjoyed today. And we'll have to shovel all this wax out of the house.

But more than anyone I want tot hank my dear sweet amor Rachel, lovely child bride for nigh onto 30 years now. The girl can’t help it, working so hard for weeks to clean up the pigsty we call home, to make it presentable to the learned masses. And then practicing this song for hours, and then summoning the courage to share her instrument, but also her heart, with all of us assembled here today. What am I bid for this spectacular woman? No matter, I wouldn't sell her for a million million dollars. She is my friend, my partner, my life.

A Key to All the Gifts

We made a simple request: please, no gifts unless they are extremely cheap or extremely silly. Evidently, there has been a decline in reading comprehension, because I found myself the object of grotesque amounts of generosity and kindness. As punishment, we will list some of the worst offenders:

• The best gift from the standpoint of relevance and time invested was from my mom. No, not the gift of life (thanks Mom!), though this comes close -- a 3 foot by 3 foot "16 Generation Ahnentafel Chart" listing of all my ancestors on my mom's side of the family going back 300 years. My mother, Mary Mulligan Konik (b. 9 March 1924) has put much of her toil for the past 30 years into this project. By definition, it is not a project that can ever be complete, unless you have your own personal evangelist tracking you back to the Garden of Eden. I love it, and her, and I will honor them both.
• Surely the most egregious violation was the gift by Mab and Larrry of a weighty tome, The Celtic World, edited by Miranda J. Green. It is 838 pages of scholarship on the origins, society and contributions of Celts from the North Sea to Galicea. I believe I was given it because I have sometimes evinced an interest in the history of my own kind -- I have given St. Patrick's talks the past two St. Patrick's days. It is a magnificent book, and I only hope I live long enough to do it justice.
• My brother Brian knows I like music. Indeed, music is what brought us together. When I returned for Christmas holiday from the seminary in 1963, Brian had all three extant LPs by the Beatles. Life has been more vivid ever since. Brian showered me with wonderful new CDs, by people like Neil Young, the Irish groups Swap and Hayes & Cahill, blues musicians Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee, and even the latest by XTC.
• But he did not stop there. He lugged all the way from California a package of conmsiderable heaviness, which, when I opened it, contained a vintage Smith-Corona typewriter. I must tell you that this gift perplexed me. Indeed, it perplexed me no end. I like typewriters, and I even wrote my first novel on one -- but I dread the idea of abandoning cut-and-paste. Then it hit me. I once bought Brian a computer, about 13 years ago, which did him no good; now he was returning the favor, showering me with his preferred technology. See, it was ironic. Pretty machine, though.
• My buddy Dan's Dennis Rodman handheld totem pole. This item was so weird that I have created a whole separate story for it at http://mfinley.com/articles/greatfull.htm. Suffice to say that I am he as the Worm is me, and we are all together....
• Another musical present from my oldest friend of all -- make that my friend of longest standing -- Worth, college roommate, highway co-traveler, and fellow naughty boy from the 60s. We tend to give one another wonderful music. I gave him the Velvet Undergound's Peel Slowly And See box set for his wedding; he responded with John Lennon's box set; I thundered back at him with Steve Miller and Captain Beefheart; now he has lashed furiously back with a terrific new Johnny Cash three-CD set, one CD apiece on the themes of God, Love, and Murder. I keep my eyes wide open all the time....  Thank you, Worth, my other brother.
• Two very cool books from Euan and Jane, the first being Pallbearers Envying the One Who Rides by Stephen Dobyns, and a business book such as I myself might be wont to write, How to Lose Friends and Infuriate People by Jonar C. Nader.
• A hand-burned CD from my pals Brady and Andrea, and their beautiful daughter Arden. It's called "The Magnetic Fields," and it's 29 rock songs that are all very intersting. Thanks, Brady!
• A nifty collection from the poodle lady, Karen, and her poodle Sasha, of woodcuts, poems, and epigraphs by an artist named Brian Andreas, Hearing Voices.
• Plus a bushel basket of gift certificates to Borders (my brother Patrick), another one for music at Cheapo/Applause by my dear friends Jim & Yvonne, a nice bottle of Irish whiskey and just as nice a bottle of Scotch Whiskey -- darn, I can't remember from whom (blame the whiskey, blame the whiskey!). But I'll bet they’re lovely people, just lovely. Maybe it was Jim and Louise. Or Britt and Robbie. Crap. Len and Diane maybe?
• I also got some golf stuff, to go with my AARP application.
• And of course, the $50 from my dad.

In short, it was the best of times, but it was very far from being the worst of times, which automatically puts my birthday ahead of the French Revolution in terms of overall fun. So I conclude this wearisome and self-indulgent document by thanking you all who came to my sweat lodge for my party, and to all who were there in spirit, plus those who are only finding about it now, and wish me no harm -- but that's it.

 

 

http://mfinley.com/gif/mike-2.jpg

Michael Finley's FUTURE SHOES

1841 Dayton Avenue

St. Paul, MN 55104

Phone 651-644-4540