Birthdays

Historically I’ve avoided acknowledging my birthday. I’ve had no problem with the concept of aging, but the day always proved itself too ripe for hurting me and naturally I learned to avoid it.

Growing up my birthday was generally forgotten, or at best marked a month late to make up for it being missed. Which really didn’t make up for it. Everyone else in my family were celebrated on their days, but never me. The few times the day did get acknowledged we’re actually more painful than being completely forgotten. I remember one year, I believe my 12th, my dad actually knew one of his kids had a birthday that day which was refreshing to me. He took my oldest sister, 18 at the time, and bought her an entire new wardrobe to celebrate her and she waited until they got home to reveal that it was actually my birthday and not hers. The clothes weren’t returned. She wasn’t reprimanded for her intentional deceit. And two months later she was celebrated again. But when my dad was forced to acknowledge me after a full day shopping with her he did take me shopping where I was allowed to pick out one outfit and no accessories. There was never any question that my parents liked my siblings and couldn’t stand me. The contrast was persistently biting.

By the time I reached college I had completely relinquished the hope that I would ever matter to anyone. I began to conceal from people when my birthday was in order to avoid the disappointment; better to go unknown than know it didn’t matter.

I finally feel different this year. First, I’ve honestly acknowledged to myself that I want people to mark my existence. Second, I finally have a whole slew of genuinely good people in my life who just might actually care about me. This year is different. And I hope all the following years I feel the same.