I can’t remember a time when I was truly excited about my birthday celebration. Maybe I did, when I was 7 and didn’t know any better, and I thought I would be 7 forever, and received so many gifts it took a whole hour to unwrap
For some strange reason, most of my presents when I was young were books. I’ve come to believe it to be a not-so-subtle conspiracy between my parents and relatives trying to trick me into liking to read.
They succeeded by the way. But what they failed to mention is that with every birthday, you’re one step closer to shouldering more responsibilities, and that 3-tiered cakes or piñatas will be the last thing on your mind. Every spoonful of cake reminds you that you’re a year older, with lower metabolism, so you really shouldn’t be eating that cake at all. In the battle between responsibilities and carefreeness, age will gravitate you away from the latter.
I also never liked the awkward position I’m put in when everyone stands around me singing the Happy Birthday song. What do I focus on? Do I smile? Do I sing along? Do I look at them? What if there’re too many people? Do I clap along?
Most of the time I end up looking placidly retarded, eyes darting back and forth and desperately holding on to a mildly spastic smile.
On my 21st birthday, my friends showed up at my house while I was in boxers and topless, at the door, somewhat surprised; but mostly horridly embarrassed.
I had forgotten it was my birthday, and was prepared for a night of “Friends” reruns marathon on my computer.
Yes, the most vicious form of birthday celebrations are surprise birthday celebrations. They jump out on you when you least expect it and inaptly dressed.
After regaining composure, I gathered the decency to put on some clothes. I was then subjected the to Birthday Song humiliation and the cake cutting. What’s worst than being completely uninterested is pretending that I was interested. There wasn’t and will never be room for laconic comments because as lazy as I was to be pretend-happy, I knew it came from a nice place, and my friends meant well.
I ended up having a good time. I’ll admit to that. After all the phony excitement, we mellowed down to eating the cheap cream birthday cake, and having juice (not coffee because it was midnight), and talking.
The talking, I enjoyed. These days I would be happy just to have a nice meal with close friends, less the birthday cakes and song singing, and talk.
Much like Mother’s Day, Teacher’s Day or Valentines Day, Birthdays are preprogrammed in our cultural pool of days to be especially nice to someone. Advertising argues that this celebration, surprise or planned, is a way for our friends and families to show how much they love us.
If we’re lucky enough, we’ll wake up one day and realize that even on the anniversary of our birth, and even if it is significant to us, to the rest of the world, it’s any other day.
Secretaries will still curse their bosses under muttered breaths, students will continue to skip classes, and our friends will still love us even if it’s not our birthday. In any case, be especially nice to your mother even if it’s not Mother’s Day; buy your girlfriend roses even if it’s not Valentine’s Day, because it shouldn’t take a commemorative occasion or a giant confetti party to love someone.
And if it does take your birthday for them to be nice to you, get some new friends already, please.
Pressing Matters 