I don't even really care about my own birthday. I never feel badly if someone doesn't know when it is, and I never announce it anywhere (how gauche is THAT). I am not ashamed of my age at all, and will happily tell anyone who cares to ask, but the day I was born holds no great excitement for me. Birthdays were never a huge deal in my family when I was growing up - especially mine because it is only a couple of weeks after Christmas. Also, the weather in the Tug Hill region of New York State is terrible in January, so the few parties my mom planned for me were mostly cancelled anyway.
Sigh.
I am not bitter, but I simply think my birthday celebratory-ness (there isn't a real word in the English language that fits here so yes, I just made that term up) has been stunted.
Some of my friends are amazing when it comes to remembering eeeeeeveryone's birthday, and they are so good about making people feel loved and special. I would be willing to bet my first paycheck (which I desperately need being a teacher who has been off all summer) that those thoughtful people grew up in families where "b'days" were big things, and parties were planned every year, and they were probably summer babies so those parties were sunny and involved hotdogs and ice cream.
One of my goals is to be organized about these dates, and to have in my calendar eeeeeveryone's birthday... to have a box full of perfect cards... and a book of pretty stamps... ready to send so they arrive on time. For now, though, I just feel guilty when I forget - or don't even know to begin with - a friend or family member's birthday.
Maybe instead I should just select one day of the year to send notes to all my loved ones that express how happy I am to have them in my life, and to tell them how much they are loved and how glad I am that they were born. Would that count?
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| Hibiscus in my garden |
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