A few weeks ago Tolkien Boy told me he was planning a party with friends for his birthday.
TB: I'm planning a birthday party. At least ostensibly I'm planning one. I've told people I am.
me: Why ostensibly?
TB: I mean, I told people I am planning one, so I should probably do so.
me: :)(I hate birthday parties)
TB: That's good to know! I won't invite you.
me: Sorry--that wasn't aimed at you, just thinking.
TB: You hate them in general?
me: You know, I always tell people that birthdays were never a big deal in my family. That's a lie. They were a huge deal. There was a birthday seat reserved for birthdays only. There was a traditional birthday poem that we all would chant at the birthday person. We'd try to make sure there was a least one small surprise from each of us for the birthday boy or girl. My mom always made some incredible cake for the occasion.
Except--I was never the birthday person. My aunt was tired of me being forgotten--so on my fifth birthday she made me a cake. Then I think my mom felt guilty. She always tried to throw a cake together for me, sometime between my birthday and my sister's birthday which was six days later. It was always a hideous disaster.
My siblings still do not have a clue when I was born.
My dad told my Kindergarten teacher that my birthday was on the 9th. It felt very odd having the kids sing to me when it wasn't my birthday. I tried to tell my teacher there was a mistake. She sent me to time out for being ungrateful and speaking out of turn. Odd.
Anyway, I think it's better to be forgotten altogether, than to be remembered when your sister's birthday rolls around, then showered with apologies. Especially when you can count on that happening the next year once again.
TB: I agree with you there. That's abominable treatment--and the apologies make it more awkward and uncomfortable.
me: Perhaps. But the upside is that I can chose my day and year, and who will know the difference?
TB: :) For me it doesn't really matter--the day. But it's a nice day to think about me in a good way. And it's nice too to celebrate that I have people in my life who care that I was born.
me: Yes. For you--I agree. I hope it's lovely. And for the record, I don't hate your birthday, nor probably do I hate birthday parties.
That's the first time I've every really talked about my feelings about birthdays. The discussion spurred some other thoughts. I realized that as a result of being forgotten, I have always believed there is nothing about me to celebrate. It's wrong for people to care that I was born. Somehow, I don't deserve a day to be happy that I live. This was all brought home with greater clarity when a cousin of mine, who happens to have the same first and last name as Tolkien Boy, was born the same year as my good friend, on my birthday. For reasons I will not go into, a great fuss was made about his birth, and suddenly September 6th, which I claimed as my own whether or not anyone else remembered, became his day.
My cousin was born in Ogden, Utah, but moved two miles away from me before his first birthday. From then on, every year my birthday rolled around, I celebrated my cousin's birthday with our families and grandparents--with no mention made that it was also my day. I'm beginning to understand why birthdays are not happy for me.
Last year I allowed people to know when my birthday was coming. I suppose it was an experiment. Part of me wanted to know what it would be like to be acknowledged by more than just my husband and kids. Part of me wondered if people would actually remember--or want to remember. And they did. I received many well-wishes in various forms. It felt...weird.
One thing I did last year was to express to my parents how it hurt me when I was forgotten. I told them that it made me feel they didn't really want me--I wasn't worth celebrating. I didn't want anything special, just for them to say they loved this day because it was when I became a part of their lives. I wanted them to be glad I was born.
I have to say, in spite of the fact that sometimes she's clueless and callous, my mom is really trying. She set up numerous reminders to make sure she didn't forget me. And I decided to drop by the day before to make sure they still remembered our conversation of last year. Therapist says, if I want the status quo to change, I have to help--I can't just expect things to happen.
So, my mom went to the farmer's market and bought some focaccia she knows I like, and she got me a very sweet card. She stopped by to give those to me around 8:00 last night. Darrin, who doesn't forget me, got me too many roses to count (they're gorgeous) and chocolate. The kids and Darrin took me out to lunch. Darrin's aunt and mom called to wish me a Happy Birthday, and I thanked my mother-in-law for the gift card she gave me. It was to an old lady clothing store, but she loves to shop there, and probably disapproves of how I dress. Her heart's in the right place, truly. And I got to talk to AtP for the first time in a long time, which I loved. It was just a quiet, lovely day.
Around 11:00 last night, Sully texted to ask if it was too late to stop by. For him, it never is. He brought me a small gift, but the thing I appreciated most was that he just stayed and visited. We talked until around 1:30 a.m., when I finally admitted I needed to sleep (8:00 a.m. church meetings). It was so sweet and unexpected of him to remember.
While we were visiting, Sully mentioned his unhappiness that more people don't remember my day. I realized when I heard his words that I've become very comfortable not being noticed. It was stressful, for whatever reason, when people sent me good wishes last year. I don't understand it. Perhaps because it makes me rethink my expectations? Because I don't know what to feel? Because it's new and sort of awkward?
I don't know.
Here's what I do know:
1. There is a part of me that still wants people to celebrate the fact that I was born--that I'm alive and a part of their lives.
2. I don't think I'd really like it if they did.
3. This is a really stupid topic on which to spend so much thinking time.
4. I'm really grateful my birthday only comes annually.
And part of me wishes I was like Tolkien Boy--someday I should throw myself a party. Maybe.
me: :)(I hate birthday parties)
TB: That's good to know! I won't invite you.
me: Sorry--that wasn't aimed at you, just thinking.
TB: You hate them in general?
me: You know, I always tell people that birthdays were never a big deal in my family. That's a lie. They were a huge deal. There was a birthday seat reserved for birthdays only. There was a traditional birthday poem that we all would chant at the birthday person. We'd try to make sure there was a least one small surprise from each of us for the birthday boy or girl. My mom always made some incredible cake for the occasion.
Except--I was never the birthday person. My aunt was tired of me being forgotten--so on my fifth birthday she made me a cake. Then I think my mom felt guilty. She always tried to throw a cake together for me, sometime between my birthday and my sister's birthday which was six days later. It was always a hideous disaster.
My siblings still do not have a clue when I was born.
My dad told my Kindergarten teacher that my birthday was on the 9th. It felt very odd having the kids sing to me when it wasn't my birthday. I tried to tell my teacher there was a mistake. She sent me to time out for being ungrateful and speaking out of turn. Odd.
Anyway, I think it's better to be forgotten altogether, than to be remembered when your sister's birthday rolls around, then showered with apologies. Especially when you can count on that happening the next year once again.
TB: I agree with you there. That's abominable treatment--and the apologies make it more awkward and uncomfortable.
me: Perhaps. But the upside is that I can chose my day and year, and who will know the difference?
TB: :) For me it doesn't really matter--the day. But it's a nice day to think about me in a good way. And it's nice too to celebrate that I have people in my life who care that I was born.
me: Yes. For you--I agree. I hope it's lovely. And for the record, I don't hate your birthday, nor probably do I hate birthday parties.
That's the first time I've every really talked about my feelings about birthdays. The discussion spurred some other thoughts. I realized that as a result of being forgotten, I have always believed there is nothing about me to celebrate. It's wrong for people to care that I was born. Somehow, I don't deserve a day to be happy that I live. This was all brought home with greater clarity when a cousin of mine, who happens to have the same first and last name as Tolkien Boy, was born the same year as my good friend, on my birthday. For reasons I will not go into, a great fuss was made about his birth, and suddenly September 6th, which I claimed as my own whether or not anyone else remembered, became his day.
My cousin was born in Ogden, Utah, but moved two miles away from me before his first birthday. From then on, every year my birthday rolled around, I celebrated my cousin's birthday with our families and grandparents--with no mention made that it was also my day. I'm beginning to understand why birthdays are not happy for me.
Last year I allowed people to know when my birthday was coming. I suppose it was an experiment. Part of me wanted to know what it would be like to be acknowledged by more than just my husband and kids. Part of me wondered if people would actually remember--or want to remember. And they did. I received many well-wishes in various forms. It felt...weird.
One thing I did last year was to express to my parents how it hurt me when I was forgotten. I told them that it made me feel they didn't really want me--I wasn't worth celebrating. I didn't want anything special, just for them to say they loved this day because it was when I became a part of their lives. I wanted them to be glad I was born.
I have to say, in spite of the fact that sometimes she's clueless and callous, my mom is really trying. She set up numerous reminders to make sure she didn't forget me. And I decided to drop by the day before to make sure they still remembered our conversation of last year. Therapist says, if I want the status quo to change, I have to help--I can't just expect things to happen.
So, my mom went to the farmer's market and bought some focaccia she knows I like, and she got me a very sweet card. She stopped by to give those to me around 8:00 last night. Darrin, who doesn't forget me, got me too many roses to count (they're gorgeous) and chocolate. The kids and Darrin took me out to lunch. Darrin's aunt and mom called to wish me a Happy Birthday, and I thanked my mother-in-law for the gift card she gave me. It was to an old lady clothing store, but she loves to shop there, and probably disapproves of how I dress. Her heart's in the right place, truly. And I got to talk to AtP for the first time in a long time, which I loved. It was just a quiet, lovely day.
Around 11:00 last night, Sully texted to ask if it was too late to stop by. For him, it never is. He brought me a small gift, but the thing I appreciated most was that he just stayed and visited. We talked until around 1:30 a.m., when I finally admitted I needed to sleep (8:00 a.m. church meetings). It was so sweet and unexpected of him to remember.
While we were visiting, Sully mentioned his unhappiness that more people don't remember my day. I realized when I heard his words that I've become very comfortable not being noticed. It was stressful, for whatever reason, when people sent me good wishes last year. I don't understand it. Perhaps because it makes me rethink my expectations? Because I don't know what to feel? Because it's new and sort of awkward?
I don't know.
Here's what I do know:
1. There is a part of me that still wants people to celebrate the fact that I was born--that I'm alive and a part of their lives.
2. I don't think I'd really like it if they did.
3. This is a really stupid topic on which to spend so much thinking time.
4. I'm really grateful my birthday only comes annually.
And part of me wishes I was like Tolkien Boy--someday I should throw myself a party. Maybe.
I've always wished my friends would throw me a birthday party, but they never have. A couple years ago I decided I wanted to do something for my birthday with my friends, so I arranged it all myself. It was hard to get some people there (being during Thanksgiving holiday break), but a few were able to make it. And I never told them that it was a party for my birthday. I made it out to be just a get-together with my friends. I don't know if they ever made the connection of the party with my birthday (though there was a cake... no candles), but regardless of that it was still a special night for me.
ReplyDeleteThat's sad that you haven't had many positive birthday experiences, but it sounds like that's changing. I'm glad to hear that. Happy (late) birthday, and here's to many more good ones to come!
Well happy belated birthday, Sam. Even if we never meet, I'm glad you were born and you've been an important person in my life. :)
ReplyDeleteDo you think that's part of why you hold yourself to be the exception sometimes? I mean, I do it too, and Lunkwill does it. I think everyone does (or maybe just all oldest children?) but maybe, because in your family you actually were treated as an exception, it is something you have a harder time not believing?
ReplyDeleteBy "the exception" I mean, if people you know and loved had things happen to them exactly as they've happened to you, you would expect them to hurt over it and possibly to have erratic behavior but from yourself you find it unacceptable and weak.
Happy birthday! I'm happy you were born.
ReplyDeleteHappy birthday!
ReplyDeleteHappy birthday! (:
ReplyDeleteKyle: I think that's a very cool idea--you get your party without a huge fuss. I would like that, I think.
ReplyDeleteJB: I'm glad you're a part of my life, too (and thanks for playing Wordscraper with me). As for your questions, I'll have to think about them. I'm not sure...
Mr. Fob: Thanks for the "search" wish. Sort of like a treasure hunt when it comes to communications from you. :)
AJ: You deleted your comment, so I'll just say thank you and your suggestion sounds like a lot of fun!
Drex and Ambrosia: Thanks!
I don't think it's a stupid topic on which to spend so much thinking time. It's obviously been a very formative thing in your life. How can parents be so callous as yours were? Forget their child's birthday? Celebrate one daughter's birthday over another's? A cousin's without mention of yours? Your mother now doing her best to remember? It's an effort for her? I can't tell you how angry that makes me. It simply isn't right. No wonder you need a therapist! Who wouldn't?
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry I got here late. Will you accept my belated birthday greetings?
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Samantha!
Happy Birthday to you!
I hope the day will come when you truly feel happy about your birthday and that you were born. I look at the supportive friends you have and know that you are blessed even if your parents treated you otherwise.