I Hate Birthdays
September 25, 2006
I really don’t like celebrating my birthday. It’s not because I have some fear of aging or anything, but I just don’t really like it. Someone heard it was my birthday and said, “congratulations.”
I was kind of confused by this. Were they congratulating me on managing to be born. I don’t think I had much to do with that. Were they congratulating me on managing to survive another year. Even with disease, accidents, and foul play — it’s just not that haDonerd of an accomplishment most of the time.
I know why I don’t like my birthday — it doesn’t take years of therapy to figure this one out. When I was a kid my parents liked to use my birthday party as a weapon. Being Jewish threats that Santa would see me wouldn’t do much good, but threatening to take away my birthday party must have seemed like a perfect alternative. Unfortunately I was a very stubborn child. And so weeks of threats to take away my birthday party if I didn’t clean my room never did much good. I just got cranky and more stubborn — and yet again didn’t have a birthday party. In one particularly memorable incident from when I was 9 or 10 years old, my mother made me call all my little friends on the day of (or night before) to cancel the party. The kicker was that I had to tell them why, which was pretty embarrasing even for a 9 year old.
Beyond that the timing of my birthday was always an issue. It falls on or around Labor Day Weekend. That means that everyone is away, so there’s no one to have a party with any way. When I was in college even my family often forgot the birthday, which usually was 5-6 days after I got back to school. I just started giving up on the caring because that way I didn’t feel sad.
Then I met my husband who made HUGE deal of my birthday. It was really fun, because he got so excited. I started to get really excited every year about what he’d do. One year we almost set the house on fire because he decided to wake me up with a giant plate of Lox that had birthday candles in it. I was startled and almost knocked the plate out of his hands! That started the tradition of the “flaming birthday fish,” which he continued with different species for several years.
Then money got tight, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter, etc. And he started to tell about the things he wanted to do. That sucked. I started really hating my birthday again. End of summer became a scary low balance in my checking account every year, so there was never any money to do anything. The only thing I looked forward to on my birthday was my traditional check from my great-aunt. Doesn’t matter how much it is, I just love that she remembers.
I think this year I hit a new birthday low. Not only did I not care — I was actively depressed about it. It’s just one of those things that you have societally built up expectations about it. When it doesn’t meet those expectations, it just sucks. What’s funny is I found a picture from my first birthday a few days before this year’s birthday. And damn, do I look super excited. Kind of wish someone would make me a clown cake again.
p.s. My husband actually gave me a rocking birthday present –but the above still stands!
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Comments»
This is really heartbreaking, Carly…
I’ve noticed that there are a few people who hate birthdays… I personally love any occasion to party and have a good time, but I don’t really like planning my own party. I wonder why.
Btw, we don’t really exchange b-day gifts. My husband and I have been on a tight budget for some years now, that we’ve stopped exchanging gifts even for Christmas. But it’s the thought that counts, right?