I am not a party guy

Nobody likes me.

I have not had a birthday party in my honor as an adult.

When I turned 40. No party.

50. No party.

60. No party.

When I took a buy out from the Detroit News. No party.

When I retired from radio. No party.

Last week I attended the surprise 60th birthday party for my neighbor Nancy. Her children arranged it and even had people from her birth place Ohio come up for the party. It felt good being a part of it and yelling surprise. Nance was pleasantly surprised and I saw her cry for the first time in 20 years.

I turn 61 in a few weeks and I know I won’t have a party because nobody likes me. Now I see why many black women I knew threw their own party at the Red Parrot in Southfield.

They grew tired of waiting for their friends to surprise them and did their own thing.

My cousin Miss Boots gave herself a party for her 72nd birthday and it was the most emotional party I’ve been to. Boots was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer a few months earlier. She knew she was going to die. So she skipped chemotherapy because she wanted to dance at her final birthday party.

When I arrived she had 10 and 20 dollar bills pinned to her and the music was blasting in her backyard. She was not hobbled by the side effects of radiation. She danced at her birthday party.

I cried.

She died a few weeks later.

I know what you are thinking. Why don’t I throw my own party?

I would. But no one would show up.

Nobody likes me.


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Published by terryfoster8

I am a 58 year old retired sports journalist, husband and father of two living outside of Detroit in search of his next big adventure in life.

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