"Let Them Eat Cake"

by Troy Foster

We celebrated Henry's birthday this week.  He turned four.  In so many aspects, it was just like any other four-year old's birthday.  A magical day of excitement for all.  Like any other four-year old, his birthday has been a big and anticipated moment for several weeks.  So much so that fights between Henry and his older sister, Lily, would result in Henry's retracted invitations to his birthday party.  And, moments later, Henry would sweetly and softly tell Lily (and others) that "you are invited to my birthday party" - as the highest compliment and most precious sign of affection.  Thankfully, you could receive multiple, equally meaningful invites - without having to go through any disinvites - a painful process that Lily (and Luke) endured many times a day.  (I was only removed from the birthday list once when I told Henry that he needed to go to sleep.  No dummy, he quickly realized that I would be pivotal to any celebration, and was invited again, with much less enthusiasm, however.)

Also, like most four-year olds (to be), Henry had coveted many "things" for his birthday.  Though throughout the year, parents often hear the "I want that for my birthday," the requests noticeably intensify in the weeks leading up to the actual day.  Virtually every commercial ended with the request - seemingly less about the particular toy, book, or other thing - and more about the fact that he was about to get something very soon!  And, again like most, Henry never really cared what the actual gift was, or how many there were.  He was just happy that it was his birthday.

There were also differences.  Stark differences that we are able to forget, or really deny thinking about, for most of the year.  But not on his birthday - certainly not this one.  Unlike most four-year olds, Henry can't eat foods (except for bananas, grapes, and black beans).  So though most celebrate with cake or their favorite meal at their favority restaurant, that's not in the cards for Henry.  It's easy to overlook how involved we, as a society, are with the cake.  From the selection of the cake, the favorite character to top it often more important than the flavor, to the delivery of sweets to the classroom - the dramatic lighting of candles - ending with a song that unites everyone in celebration of our birth - of us.  It's a big deal.

An even bigger deal, I think, if you can't enjoy it.  In years past, Kristen and I have done other things to make the day extra special.  We made a cake out of non-edible things.  Last year, we went to the local cafe and asked them to put a candle in a banana, and come out and sing "Happy Birthday."  Both were big hits.

This year, we knew very early on, that it wasn't going to be so easy.  In prior years, he was either the youngest or his younger brother was a baby.  Not this year.  Eli could eat a whole cake if we let him.  So, Henry had been asking to "try a taste of special birthday cake" for months.  As with a lot of things, Kristen and I hatched a plan - without even saying a word to one another.  Henry was going to have cake this year.  Was it responsible?  Good parenting to give cake to your child who is allergic to virtually every ingredient in birthday cake?  (And trust me, we have looked, but can't find any cakes with black beans, bananas, and grapes.)  Were we weak parents or doing something more for us than our little boy?

Without any in-depth discussion, we both agreed that his auto-immune disorder was the least of his worries (never thought I'd write that - maybe that's why Kristen and I don't verbalize it).  Having foods that he's allergic to would create long-term problems for his digestive track.  Long term.  This wasn't something we could worry about.  Because he also has a degenerative form of mitochondrial disease, the doctors told us to think of Henry as an 80-year old man - a shortened life span, but unpredictable.

So, we focused on short term.  I got a cake mix to make chocolate cupcakes (he asks for chocolate a lot - which may have a lot to do with our tastes) - with pirate cupcake holders - and sprinkles.  Kristen went and got store-bought cake - with with heavy icing.  Henry asked "Do I get to have cake?"  Our affirmative answer almost brought tears to my eyes before the words left our mouths.  Henry lit up, and started running around.  It meant so much to him.  So, we put candles in, turned out the lights, put him at the head of the table, gathered around, and sang "Happy Birthday."  Henry blew, with all of his might, to put out the flame atop his "4" candle, insisting that he needed no help.  But he did.  He was having a lot of breathing issues this week, and breathing treatments weren't helping a bunch.  He didn't notice that I blew with him, standing from behind.  Though Luke did, he winked at me and didn't say a word.

Then, we dug in.  Just like at any other four-year old party.  Henry kept smiling.  No one said anything when we saw that, though he had cake all over his hands, he had simply taken two licks of icing.  He had taken the cupcake wrapper off of the cupcake, discarding the untouched cupcake and cherishing the pirate holder.  He knew, at some level, that eating the cake and cupcake would make him sick to his stomach.  But, he got to "eat" cake - just like any other four-year old.

Bad parenting?  Poor choice?  Irresponsible?  We don't think so.  It was a big day for Henry!  Well worth whatever anyone outside looking in might think.