Call It in the Air
Chapter Two Birthday Presents; Ottawa, Canada, 1962
By: Gregory Light - May 27, 2026
Event.
It sounded strange. Naturally, Joey had heard the word before, but "event", before, had meant something special, like a circus or a school picnic or even a birthday party. It was not simply anything that happened, from a sneeze to a phone call to cracking your knuckles at the dinner table. And the whole relationship between events, some causing others, some being part of larger, more complex events, some having no explanation at all; that was all new to him. He certainly had not realized the composite events embracing him now could be so long arriving. Maybe, that was understandable. He was only eleven years old when he first needed to think about it. Indeed, it was on his eleventh birthday.
On that day, back in 1962, Joey was given two gifts that stood out from the "stacks" of others he'd received. (He liked to tell his friends that he got "stacks of presents".) When they asked him what he got, however, he would simply fail to mention the two gifts that stuck out like sore thumbs in his otherwise "real neat pile of stuff". They were not worth mentioning. They just detracted from the other presents; like his new 3-speed racer bicycle or the football helmet he wore when he was riding his new bike because it made him feel like a motorcycle racer. If he mentioned the other two presents, he knew his friends would just talk about them and say things like, 'Ugh, that's awful. If I got that for my birthday, I'd just get sick all over the place,' or 'Aw, that's too bad Joey. You can play with the stuff I'm going to get for my birthday.' They would forget about the bike, even though they'd all take turns riding on it. Friends could be like that; especially if their birthdays were not for another seven months.
The first present that fell off the list he'd shared with his best friend, Gary, was a mathematics book. He thought about telling Gary, but the book was so awful, he didn't dare to do it. Anyway, Gary would have told the others, no matter how many oaths of secrecy he had sworn. Joey was certain of this because a mathematics book was so bad that if Gary got one as a present, Joey would have broken any oaths he might have sworn.
The stupid thing to Joey was that he didn't have the slightest interest in the arithmetic they did at school, let alone something called mathematics. And the title of the book, Probability Made Simple just confused the issue that much more. He shouldn't have been all that surprised though, as the uncle who gave him the book was well-known for giving kids presents they hated. He had always believed this uncle, Uncle Frederick, to be a cruel monster.
"Monster? Really?" asked Gary.
"Yeah, like a kind of devil or something with really sicko eyes.' Joey replied.
Even the fact that Uncle Frederick insisted on being called "Frederick" grated on Joey. He figured everyone had a right to be called what they wanted but it was the way Frederick said his name and insisted on it.
'It makes me want to puke.' said Joey.
'Yeah, me too.' said Gary.
It was one of the reasons that Joey insisted that Uncle Frederick call him "Joey" and not Joseph. He had made a thing out of it one night at dinner just after Frederick had said, 'Joseph, may I please have the salt.'
'My name's Joey.' he spat out.
'Joey!' his father glared at him.
'But Dad, everyone calls me Joey. That's my name. Why can't he call me that too? I call him Frederick.'
'Uncle Frederick.'
'Yeah, I mean Uncle Frederick.'
The truth was that Joey secretly called Uncle Frederick, Fred. He even used the name when Fred wasn't staying with them. For him, "Fred" came to mean all that was stupid or crummy in people. One afternoon when he and Gary were riding their bikes home from school, Gary suddenly had to swerve to miss a brown cocker spaniel and ended up falling into a thorny hedge. Joey couldn’t help laughing and as Gary disentangled himself from the briars, Joey yelled, 'You shouldn't have been riding no-hands. You're a real ‘fred’, Gary.' After that, the term was regularly used in all sorts of circumstances by the two boys.
Once, when they were playing cards at the kitchen table, Gary called Joey a fred just as Frederick was passing. He stopped and looked at them giggling between themselves and asked them what was so funny.
'Oh nothing,' said Joey barely holding himself. 'Gary just said that I was dead.' And at that he and Gary burst out laughing, almost falling to the floor.
'What's so humorous about that?' asked Uncle Frederick, totally at a loss as to what was happening.
'You had to be there,' Joey replied, trying to conceal his exploding mirth.
'Yeah, it just sounded like Fred,' said Gary at which point both boys fell over backward onto the kitchen floor, shaking with laughter and covered in strewn cards. The situation rapidly passed beyond Frederick's reach.
'I think you could spend your time more wisely by doing your schoolwork, Joseph,' he said, moving past them to the living room.
He was still calling Joey, Joseph. Even to his face which Joey thought was unbelievably unfair. It was cheating, he told his father. Why should he have to call his uncle, Frederick, if he wasn't going to stick to the rules? At school anybody who cheated got his arm twisted behind his back until they said they were sorry or until they cried. He would have preferred to see his uncle cry, but his father wasn't prepared to do either. It was a sort of weird code that adults had. Joey might have accepted if it went both ways. But it didn't and whenever it raised its ugly head it made his life miserable. He told Gary that his uncle "fredded" up his life every time he came to visit, ("fred" having become a verb as well as a noun.) Gary sympathized with his friend. He knew that Joey's uncle was a teacher and, to Gary, having to go home to somebody like that was like spending twenty-four hours a day in school. And that was the absolute worst.
When Gary heard that Uncle Frederick was coming for Joey's birthday, he suggested Joey spend the day at his place.
'Nah, Dad says I have to spend it at home. My Gramma is going to be visiting too. She's really nice, but I don't see why they have to use my birthday to see each other.'
'Yeah, well my mom probably wouldn't have let you stay anyway,' said Gary, trying to ease the situation.
'Probably not,' said Joey, slowly walking back home, his head drooping to his shoulders. 'What a fred day it's going to be.'
'At least you'll get lots of presents,' shouted Gary as he did a wheelie on his bike and started down the street to his house.
'Who cares?' Joey mumbled. Although the idea did brighten him up a bit. But he sure wasn't going to let on. Sometimes he liked it when other people felt sorry for him. Especially Gary. It was at times like this that Gary would let him ride his bike. He just hoped his parents felt sorry for him. Really, really sorry. He'd complained about Uncle Frederick's visit for two weeks now. He was a bit afraid that he might have overdone it.
When he saw the 3-speed racer, he knew his plan had worked. And if his parents had any doubts about being too generous, they were quickly dispelled when they saw the look on his face as he thanked Uncle Frederick for the “mathematics” book. Privately, Joey thought that Fred had hit the depths of sadism this time. Even his parents were surprised at the choice of gift. Joey's one consolation was his father's reaction. It was the first time he had ever heard his father address his uncle in the short, more familiar, form.
'Hell, Fred,' he said, his disappointment apparent, 'Whatever made you think Joey would want a math book?'
Uncle Frederick explained that Einstein, too, had not had any interest in mathematics when he was Joey's age. It was an uncle who had sparked his interest in it. 'Joseph's my only nephew,' he added with some emotion, 'And I regard his future potential as immensely important.'
Joey was looking forward to a tense, fierce argument between his uncle and his father, but his mother suddenly interjected to say that a succession of Ds and Cs on Joey's report card had long ago persuaded them that Joseph Edwards was no Albert Einstein. Joey was not particularly happy about the tactic his mother was using against his uncle; especially as it didn't work. Frederick persisted, saying it was worth a chance. “He could be a mathematician?” Some chance, Joey thought. The word made him shiver – especially the way his uncle said it. ”'If nothing else it may help him in business later in life.' At which point Fred sat down on the sofa, an expression of hurt across his face.
What a book on probability could conceivably have to do with business, Joey's parents generously left un-asked. They nodded a sort of approval to Frederick who took the ambiguous gesture to mean that his gift had been well received. That was another thing that Joey added to the catalogue of things he disliked about Fred: he didn't care what Joey thought of the gift. It was enough that his parents accepted it. And he was cross with his parents for letting this ridiculous uncle get off so easily. No kid at school would get away with behaviour like that. The distortions adults were willing to put up with really irritated him.
The second "forgettable" present Joey got on his birthday was a 1936 penny in mint condition: from his grandmother, Sarah. To Joey, a penny—even an old penny in mint condition—was still only a penny. How do you explain to your friends that you got a "really neat, fantastic, amazing penny" for your birthday? No matter how you try, it still comes up a penny. Even a neat piece of metal sounds better. Except they'd want to see it. "That's just a crappy penny. I got a whole piggy bank full of them," they'd say. Joey knew they'd say it because it's what he thought when he unwrapped the gift.
It was particularly exasperating coming from Sarah because he had counted on her for something special. Frederick, he could understand, but Sarah? She should have known better. Was it not she who gave him the slingshot last year? That had been a truly inspired present. He had wanted a slingshot for years. He had begged his parents to buy him a ‘really good one’. (The accuracy of the homemade kind was not up to the level of expertise he and his friends had reached.) Not only had his parents refused, but they also took away the only decent homemade one he had. And that was because the stupid collie next door had got in the way of one of his shots and proceeded to howl and whimper all night. Joey protested vigorously but his mother was in an unresponsive mood. She got like that when she hadn't slept well.
The best thing about the slingshot Sarah had given to him was that she had given it to him. His parents were unlikely to take it away from him without good cause. They tried once but he threatened to tell Gramma the next time she telephoned which was at least once a week. Joey was proud of his cunning sometimes. And he was sure Sarah knew what he was up to; sure, even, that she was in on the game from the beginning. It was one of the things he adored about her. The way she just knew things sometimes. Knew even when he didn't. She seemed to sense things that other adults did not seem capable of understanding. He knew, for example, that Sarah had known the slingshot was the most perfect present when he overheard Frederick reprimanding her for giving it to him.
'Really mother, how could you? You're just encouraging Joseph to be like every other child his age.'
Sarah's reply was about the best thing Joey had ever heard in his whole life. He told Gary that. 'It was about the best thing that I've ever heard in my whole life.'
'What did she say? Did she tell him off or something?'
'No. She said, 'Freddie, I gave Joey a slingshot because I didn't give you one when you were a child.' That's what she said.'
'She called him Freddie?' asked Gary, slightly puzzled.
'Dummy. She always calls him Freddie. No, because she didn't give him one. That's why.'
'Well, it doesn't sound like the best thing I ever heard.'
When Joey casually mentioned it to his mother later, it didn't sound like the best thing she'd ever heard either. She was downright gloomy about the subject. It was just a silly phase he was going through as far as she was concerned. She guaranteed him that as he got older, he would give up wanting to play with his slingshot altogether. Joey wasn't so sure about that. Here he was, a year later, eleven years old and he still treasured it; the best slingshot in the school. One thing was certain, however; his grandmother had given up. And for a penny! What a crushing let-down! He hadn't thought his mother had meant that you would have to wait until you were as old as Gramma before you lost interest in slingshots. Maybe, in her case, it had to do with losing your mind; what grown-ups called senility or second childhood. Joey certainly hoped it wasn't second childhood because if a penny was all she could think of, then it certainly wasn’t as much fun as first childhood.
For her part, Sarah knew that Joey was not going to be thrilled with a penny. She had contemplated giving him something else but, rightly or wrongly, rejected the idea because it would have undermined the feelings embedded in the giving of this special penny on this day. For his eleventh birthday, she wanted to give him the penny because it was something "she" wanted to give him even if it was not exactly something he would be thrilled to receive from her. Eventually, she would explain its meaning to him, confident that he would understand the memories it held. Sarah held a strong conviction about her grandson. There was something about Joey that was odd, yes, but intriguing as well. To her Joey had a sensitivity to things and events that others were unable to feel or were uninterested in seeing.