I’ve made comments about each of the major holiday/holy day celebrations in which I have participation, albeit at a low level, historically. There is another celebration, a personal one, which I have neglected to accommodate even more than I have the public events. My birthday. For most of my life I tried to ignore it, not because I dreaded the passing of the years, but rather, because everyone else around me had ignored it, even more. I was well into my middle years, before May 25 became a day I welcomed.
My parents did nothing to acknowledge my birthday. I never had a birthday party. I do not recall ever having a birthday cake, certainly not one with candles to blow out. On the other hand, I was not the only one lacking a birthday celebration. I do not recall any event associated with either my mother’s or father’s birth date. Hers was June 7, 1907; his was May 29, 1908. Actually, I do not remember celebrating any relative’s birthday, although I’m sure that my cousins did have parties. It’s just that I do not remember attending any of them.
Following our marriage, Karen wanted to celebrate my personal day. Her attempts became a major problem between us. I greatly enjoyed giving a party for her and presenting her with a gift on September 17. However, having never experienced receiving a birthday present, other than some new clothes, I was uncertain how to respond, in my twenties, to this new event. The worst experience occurred the year when Karen tried to give me an onyx ring. Knowing that I did not like to receive birthday presents, she hid the ring in a Cracker Jack box. When I opened the box, I recognized it contained not merely a prize, but a present. It was a handsome black stone in a silver setting; it may have had a diamond chip in the center. Nevertheless, I refused to accept it and she returned it to the jeweler.
After this fiasco, I attempted, in the following years, to accept having a birthday celebration – with a minor party, cake and a reasonable present. We continued to have an annual birthday party in September for Karen, and, later, real celebrations for Deb, Ken and Chris, whose friends were invited to gatherings only during their childhood years. As our children grew into teenagers, the cake and ice-cream were meant only for the immediate family. There were a few years when my parents made the trip to visit us about the time of one of their grandchildren’s birthdays. My folks made much better grandparents than they did parents, perhaps recognizing that times and relationships were now different.
It wasn’t until we had moved to Longwood that Karen initiated the event which changed my own acceptance of my birthday. She planned a surprise party, knowing that it could be a disaster, if I continued to act the way I had for so many years. She invited close friends, mainly understanding fellow-deacons and their wives, to appear at our home, while I had been sent on an errand. As I neared the house, I noticed extra cars parked in the neighborhood and, upon walking up to our door, had glimpsed Deacon John Charnesky peering through a window. Realizing what Karen was attempting, I was determined to enjoy myself. I did. It was the beginning of a series of years of appreciated celebrations of my birthday.
I continued to take delight in seeing that Karen’s birthday was well-celebrated. We often went out for a dinner in a restaurant; there was no reason for her to have prepared her own meal. The first year after our marriage, I created a disaster in my efforts to be the chef. I had done minimal food preparation before our marriage; warming up a frozen TV dinner was usually sufficient during my first year of graduate school. However, I did try to fix steak, potatoes and our favorite: fried onion rings. At the time, I could not tell the difference, when shopping in the local grocery, between a Bermuda onion and a pinkish-white turnip. Fried turnips are not the same as fried onion rings. I think the steak finally turned out ok, although the entire preparation time took longer than I thought it would.
I also recall a delightful birthday for Karen that we celebrated in London in 1997. It was complete with a cashmere sweater I bought for her in a shop on Oxford Street. Our visit began in late September, so there was a delay in her receiving her present, but it was worth it, I think. On the other hand, she did celebrate her 70th birthday in Slovenia. We began the morning on Lake Bled, continued with a visit to Ljubliana, capital of Slovenia, and returned to Bled in time to attend a seven o’clock mass at St. Martin’s before going out for a pizza dinner. In more recent years, I usually have given her a family party with kids and grandchildren at Brookwood, where she has, from time to time, volunteered as a docent.
There was also an interval when there was a joint birthday party for Tracey, Chris and me. Our daughter-in-law’s date is May 24, the day before mine, and Chris’ on May 30, five days later. At one time, our families gathered for a lobster dinner, prepared either in a pot in our house or by Kroger’s. The menu was finally altered when our grandchildren no longer preferred hotdogs, but desired to consume the crustaceans along with us.
With the passing of years, our birthdays have been honored in many places and in many different ways. I have enjoyed all of them, regardless of the venue and the menu. I’ve even learned to have fun on my own day. I hope this experience lasts awhile longer.