You Look Like a Monkey, and You Smell Like One Too

My birthday, traditionally, has largely been a source of disappointment. This started out not being too much of a problem, and has slowly deteriorated to the point of preferring that it just plain go unnoticed. You see, the day before my birthday is my dad’s birthday. I love my dad. He’s really someone I would aspire to be like if I didn’t already know there was no way in the world I ever could. Dad’s much loved, and rightly so, by anyone and everyone he comes into contact with. And being that it was just practical to do so, our birthdays were always celebrated together. One party, one cake, that kind of thing.

I’m an old fart now and I don’t need my own cake. If anyone got me balloons at this point, I’d feel like an idiot and project that on to the balloon giver. I hate balloons. But I think when I was a kid, my own balloons, my own cake, and my own party would have helped a lot. It’s about as basic a psychology as I can make out. These tiny details, seemingly petty, are the thorns that made their mark. Growing up, I pretty much always existed in someone else’s shadow. When it came to birthdays, it was in Dad’s shadow. I repeat that I love my father very much, but he and I are individual people. Sharing a limelight robs a person of a tiny moment on a pedestal.

Like I said, growing up it was just practical to share the date with Dad. As I got older, I started being celebrated by friends outside of the family setting and that made a big difference. To them, I wasn’t my father’s daughter. To them there was no one else having a birthday at the same time. This put a twist into who I wanted to celebrate my birthday with… only to be followed by feelings of guilt for preferring friends over family. Guilt was soon followed by the sense of obligation to appear at my own birthday celebration, such as it might be. And guilt inevitably fermented into resentment. So, on top of knowing full well that the birthday dinner/party/outing was only secondarily for me, I had to go, and I had to feign joy.

And now, for the added ingredient. There are people in my family whom I don’t like. At all. If it were up to me I would cease all further contact from this day forward, amen. I’m not saying it’s a simple case of finding someone annoying. I’m saying there is real, actual dislike and a desire to not have that person in my life. Unfortunately, my parents’ son is important to my parents. So this is how birthdays look: dinner out to celebrate “the birthdays” actually becomes a torturous affair for me. This is not enjoyable. This is no way to spend a birthday. This is not a happy, joy-joy, warm-fuzzy celebration . Just knowing that he will be there makes me not want to go, but I have to go because it’s my birthday. So you say if it’s my birthday I should be able to opt not to go? Yes, but, see, it’s Dad’s birthday too, and not going is hurtful to him… on his birthday. And birthdays are for celebrating that person’s wishes. And since our wishes are contradictory, Dad’s wishes win out. ‘Cause he’s Dad and there’s not a person on the planet who would want to do anything to disappoint him.

I guess that what I’m saying is that my birthday has long ago ceased to really belong to me, much less to be in any way a joyous affair. Except for the dinner out with friends and the obligatory card from co-workers, the rest of it is something I not only could do with out, but truly don’t look forward to at all.

I wish it would occur to someone to really look at me and who I am. I wish I could have one birthday that was actually planned for me. I’m not looking for an extravagant affair. I’m saying that if anyone really stopped to think of me, they would know that my joys are simple. That I like simple things, not grand, but intimate. I like peace and quiet. I like softness and security. The easy thing would be to hand my family a list of what I want and how I want to be celebrated. But that’s just pathetic, isn’t it? That anyone should have to do that after so many years of supposedly knowing each other. It defeats the entire purpose of feeling special and only serves to underline the contrary: that the only way I'm going to be properly appreciated is to do it myself. I may as well write down what I want for a gift as well, right?

Just posting this makes me aware that if a given chain of events takes place, this could very well make it to the ears of people in my family who might very well take it upon themselves to “right this wrong” which is a kind and lovely thing to do. But then, we’ll never know, will we? …if they are only doing it because they read about it here or because they had planned something regardless and I didn’t just guilt someone into taking action.

This year, for my birthday, I want to be alone. I want a week alone somewhere away from everyone, reading, sleeping, eating good food. I want to be catered to by people who are good at that. I already know that’s not going to happen. This year, blessedly, Dad turns 80 and there is to be a huge celebration beyond anything we’ve had in the past.

I’ll be there, too.