Whenever I am gone from Channel 9, like this past week, the phones light up...but, despite the enthusiastic and hopeful response to my absence, I am back...for awhile. Thanks to the folks I visited with at the Rhythm and Ribs festival a week ago Friday and the fine journalists-to-be at the Barstow Summer Camp I saw a couple days back. Also, thanks for the e-mails, voice mails and cards wishing me a happy birthday on June 21. Of course, June 21 is the first day of summer and the longest day of the year...it certainly was for my mother 45 years ago.

She called last Wednesday and wished me a "Happy Turkey Day!" I mentioned that Thanksgiving is still several months down the road and she said she felt I was now old enough to know that the family had long ago decided my birthday more than qualified as a "turkey" day. The morning I was born, my brothers were all camping out. My dad approached their tent and told them the new baby was here. They were glad to hear it was another boy. They figured that would add to the outdoor army they were building. Now, my brothers are all significantly older than I am...really quite a bit older...excessively older...embarrassingly older. Anyway, by the time I was old enough to join up and hang out in the tent with them, they had moved onto other things like girls, cars, girls, music, girls, sports and, also, girls.

I was born in the middle of a heat wave, which, for Wisconsin in June, could be anything above 60 degrees. This time, however, it was well into the 90s which had the corn standing on its ears, the cows making plane reservations for Vermont, and local ministers wondering if it was a sign of the apocalypse...with the fourth horseman wearing a blaze orange cap with ear flaps, carrying a Packers bobble-head, and riding a hyper-active heifer. Despite the heat, I was totally wrapped in hospital blankets when I came home. My grandma immediately started to throw aside all the coverings including my fuzzy little sleeper with a blue elephant on it. The trauma of that has apparently stayed with me. To this day, at the sight of an elephant, I begin to sweat, get a little hot-headed, and end up standing in my boxers and t-shirt, regardless of where I may be at the time. This explains why I was escorted out of the special screening of Dumbo a few years ago and why I could never be assigned reporting duties at a Republican Convention.

One of my earliest birthday memories involved having a friend overnight and then going to the FamilyLand amusement park in Wisconsin Dells. I also got a great gift that year: a ten-speed bike. As memorable as all of that alone would be, what really makes me remember it, is the unfortunate fact that I was sick as a dog. I didn't tell anybody but I did make frequent trips out behind the garage. At the park, I forced myself to get on the dreaded Tilt-A-Whirl, knowing it could well become a Tilt-A-Hurl. Oddly, it actually made my stomach feel better. Maybe it was a physical version of reverse psychology. I wobbled my way through the day and started to feel better just about cake and candle time. I am a firm believer in the healing powers of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.

Another birthday I will always remember was when I was living in Las Vegas and turned 19. I was on the Rainbow Vegas bowling team. The Rainbow Vegas Hotel was a very small operation near down-town. We had no gambling, which set us apart, and a lousy bunch of bowlers. In the middle of my back-swing at the Showboat Lanes on that June 21, a woman dressed as a birthday present came along and began to warble a tune. It was a singing telegram from a company called Eastern Onion, paid for by the team. It seemed to go on for a long, long time. Finally, she finished the melody, handed me some silly gifts, and moved on into the night. As for my bowling game, I was never much good but, after that, I really became well-acquainted with the gutter. A place many of my teachers probably thought I'd eventually end up, after all.

Some kids are terrified by their early birthdays...everyone singing at them...the burning candles...the pile of presents you can't open yet. Our youngest burst into tears at his first birthday and we have a great photograph of the moment. We keep it in the same box with the "baby's first bath" photos we have of all the kids. They come in handy when you want to ensure your teenager will be home on time or get their friends out of our house at a reasonable hour. All the great child-rearing experts ignore the many uses of blackmail in successful parenting.

My oldest brother would immediately crawl under the table when the cake was being brought out and the singing started...it was a little embarrassing last year when he turned 57. He used to tell people the crooner, Perry Como, was his uncle. That has nothing to do with birthdays, but I thought you should know.

I was never terrified by my birthday. Until, this year. First of all, it took the better part of the afternoon for my kids to light all the candles. Then, as it was carried my way, I had an increasing sense of what Joan of Arc may have experienced. When I blew them all out, the smoke grew so thick that I think heard choppers overhead about to drop water on the obvious grass fire. I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if the HazMat team had burst through the door.

Now, nearly a week later, all that's left is a brownish haze hanging in the air and the faint, but rejuvenating, smell of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.