Back when I turned 12, my mother made me a chocolate cake, stuck 12 candles in the icing and painstakingly lit them one by one as I licked my lips, waiting to dig into that chocolate goodness.

As you would guess, given my advanced age now, she used regular matches to light the candles, meaning she could light about four candles before the flame burned fingers.

“Come on. Light it already,” I protested after the second match, watching some of the already lit candles go out, only to have to be lit again.
Back then the big lighters, like the ones you use to light your grill now, were for the rich families. We were strictly a paper match family. We couldn’t even afford the nice wooden ones.

Anyway, after what seemed like forever, the 12 candles were lit and it was time to have at it.

“Wait!” she snapped as I puckered up and prepared to spray my germs all over the frosting. “We have to sing Happy Birthday first.”

I rolled my eyes as my mom (my father never sang happy birthday because it wasn’t manly to do so) and some of my friends that gathered sang the familiar song, off-key I might add. Then, finally, it came time to blow out the candles. Now, for a 12 year old it’s a badge of honor to blow them all out at once. Failure to do so would have made me look lame in front of family and friends. So, I huffed and puffed and lit into them, extinguishing them all like a hurricane wind – except for one single candle that continued to flicker.

Darting my eyes to see if any of my school friends gathered around had noticed my show of weakness, I blew again. The candle went out but then flamed back to life, almost as if by magic. Again and again I tried.

“What the …” I began only to hear a chorus of laughter over my shoulder.

“It was a trick candle,” one of my friends roared, the Eddie Haskell wannabe nearly doubling over at the sight of my face turning red trying to blow out that single flame.

Of course, the only proof of the event that exists today is an old grainy black and white photo of me in a goofy party hat blowing on that candle.
Why are you talking about your 12th birthday, Duane? Because this week was my son Henry’s 12th birthday. Before you ask, I didn’t pull the trick candle prank. I’m saving that for when he turns 13 so keep it hush hush.

Unlike my party where only one grainy photo still exists, there are tons of pictures of Henry’s 12th this past weekend as everyone pulled out their cellphones and shot away and then posted it to their Facebooks and Instagram.

Along with that, there was one other thing that stuck out in my mind about his 12th birthday opposed to mine. When we asked Henry where he wanted to go eat at, he didn’t hesitate.

“I want sushi,” Henry replied.

Sushi and cellphones. Times have changed since the days of paper matches and trick candles.