Birthdays are for Other People
Birthdays.
Everyone has one and some people even like theirs.
There are those who go all out and insist on a month long celebration.
There are those who prefer a quiet time at home with family and maybe a couple friends.
Then there are those like me who prefer to pretend it doesn’t exist, only share it under duress, and banish those who go against my wishes to ignore it.
I’ve gotten better about acknowledging and even celebrating my birthday in the last few years but there was a good couple decade stretch where I was one of those who went from Halloween to Christmas to avoid that whole Thanksgiving thing.
I am one of the lucky ones that has a birthday that falls on Thanksgiving week (that’s sarcasm, people). Growing up, this meant it was difficult to have a birthday party because of it’s proximity to a major holiday. There are pictures of me at exactly one birthday party. I was probably 3 (I’m terrible with estimating age in pictures - even my own) and it didn’t look terrible. Since there are no pictures of birthday parties for me after that I can only assume that that’s when things started to change.
Even around 4 or 5 I knew Grandma was “sick” but I didn’t fully understand. By age 9 I had a much better grasp of the situation and knew (in my limited understanding) that Grandma lost it from about two weeks before Thanksgiving until about mid-January every year. Some years were better than others but it wasn’t something that could be accurately predicted beforehand and the severity could only be judged after the season was over.
What this meant for me as a kid, tween, and teen was hiding as far from the yelling, fighting, and crazy as I could.
As I got older I would get inexplicably twitchy around Halloween and then it was explicable. I knew and sensed what was coming and was already dreading it.
I was the same in high school and college. Never telling friends when my birthday was even at the expense of free desserts at chain restaurants.
When I moved back to Chicago after college a friend found out when it was and organized a small group to go out and sprung it on me after I admitted I didn’t have plans. It was a group that hung out at least a couple times a week so I wasn’t suspicious. I went and it wasn’t terrible. The fact I acknowledged and actually celebrated my birthday felt like growth.
The following year things were already much crazier and more stressful and I begged the same friend who organized the previous year to drop it. She ignored my request and landed a much larger surprise party. We argued over the phone and after various unpleasantries were exchanged I went over to the party. Walked in the front door, said some hellos, walked out the back door, went home, and turned off my phone.
We didn’t speak for months and our relationship was never the same after that.
Since then, every few years I’ll decide to celebrate my birthday and let a few people know when it is. Then, some bullshit will happen and I’ll retreat back to my shell.
A few years ago when I was turning 40 I was in a pretty good place. I was about a year past the end of a bad relationship and was in the beginnings of a much better relationship and decided to go to the Joshua Tree in the high desert of Southern California. I invited Jess to join me in the desert and it was an incredibly romantic and magical time.
Since then I’ve been much more in control of my own situation and we would go for a meal or to a movie or something. Nothing big or flashy. I’m still not a big party person and I still don’t broadcast when it is.
I believe that my experiences growing up are why I am all about making birthdays, half birthdays, and all holidays as peaceful and joyous as possible for my own Tiny Human. I absolutely do not want to pass on any generational bullshit to her. She deserves better than that and I will do everything I can to make sure she gets it.
If you’ve read this far, thank you and I hope you understand my specific neurosis a little better now and I’m still not telling when my birthday is.