By the time my birthday arrived each year, school was out. No cupcakes for my elementary school class, no ribbon corsages in junior high, no friends to celebrate with as they scattered…somewhere. June birthdays are often relegated to second-tier status, shoved to the background, subordinate to end-of-school events, graduations, weddings, and the onset of summer activities.
Birthdays arrive every year on the same date, no matter what else is going on in one’s life, or what spectacular events are occurring around the world. The episode can be ignored, or fêted, or merely noted, an oh by the way. Special ones stick in our minds forever, others fade into forgetfulness.
I remember…Birthday dinners when Father’s Day and my birthday coincided, an afternoon spent feasting on hot dogs and hamburgers and mingling with relatives, some beloved, others less so.
Exceptional cakes – Carvel ice cream cakes…two-tiered yellow and chocolate cakes…and the luscious black mousse creation enjoyed by the one-year-after-Covid gathering of 14, all family, reunited for the first time in 2½ years. The best birthday gift! (The get-together, not the cake.)
Gifts, some remembered, most forgotten – books and games…a bike…a ring from Grandma and Grandpa…a charm bracelet, charms added over the years…subscription to Seventeen magazine…and as an adult, a trip to England that coincided with my birthday.
As a kid I eagerly awaited the joyous occasion; decades later not so much. Milestone birthdays nowadays hit me like a slap in the face. A major one occurred during COVID-19, but no celebration welcomed me into the Medicare crowd. No party, no special dinner at a posh restaurant, no grandkids around to tease me about my age, just another day in a long line of quiet, near-solitary days passed in semi-seclusion.
The day after a birthday I am the same person I was the week before. Only older. I should be wiser. I wish I was wiser. That would be a great present. But no…I am the same old me, emphasis on old.
Certain everyday actions highlight my entry into senior citizenhood, such as filling out an online form with a dropdown box for your birth year. Each year the list gets longer. And the years roll by – backward…The 2000s pass too quickly, with years of work, children’s marriages, grandchildren, relocation, retirement. In the 1990s my boys graduated high school and college and moved out into the world. The 1980s marked job changes, raising two boys, volunteer activities, moving, family events. Busy decade! The 1970s: college graduation, marriage, babies. The 1960s, a tumultuous time around the world, and for me. My teen years. Junior high, high school, college, boyfriends. Finally the beginning of my world, the 1950s.
I comfort myself thinking about birthdays ahead and the wonderful things I hope to do. And I feel that way most of the time. Except when really tired after an exercise class. Or when I look in the mirror (who is that woman with the gray roots, circles around her eyes, and that NECK?)
And especially when I scroll down that long, endless list of years.
To me – old age is always ten years older than I am. – Bernard Baruch
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3 responses to “Every Year Older But Not Wiser”
My birthday is in mid-December so even though it is a festive time of year it’s not the best time to throw a birthday party. LOL
My parents were in their 40s when they had me but I never thought of them as old. I always felt that old was 10 years older than my mother. So that means old is 109 because my mother was 99 when she passed.
My birthday is in May. I’ve never thought about it, but having it in June certainly would have put it out of the school year.
One thing I remember is that my sister’s birthday was in late April and mine was in early May. Sometimes my mom would bake us a cake and we’d have our birthdays together. It was disappointing not to get a special recognition, but after I became a mom, I understood the pressures and difficulties a mom faces. We lived on a farm, then my dad was the field manager on a large apple ranch so my parents worked very hard most seasons of the year.