I had a birthday recently (extremely recently – but I won’t tell you when), and got the usual grief from my family about not celebrating nor caring about it.
For the past few years we haven’t really celebrated any of our birthdays in the family, mainly because my brother and I have been “adults” for a long time now, and are past the “kids party” stuff. Now it’s perhaps a card, perhaps a gift. Nothing really big.
I guess my problem has to do with the sappy way everyone gets when it’s a birthday. People use their “cute” voice when they talk to you on that day, and heck, even my mom – in a “cute voice” – asked “well, and now how old are you today?” Frack, she knows how old I am; she was there, I think.
I guess I’m just embarrassed by the whole thing. But on the other hand, I don’t mind helping other people celebrate their birthday. Perhaps it’s because I’m not the “center of attention” if it’s someone else’s day.
(Now, those of you who think you know me are probably saying “but Kevin loves to be the center of attention!” But you are dead wrong. There’s too much pressure being the center of attention.)
A part of me does like the attention; the recognition. But I have always existed more with my head than my gut, and logic tells me that this “craving of attention and recognition” is wrong. So I get embarrassed.
I’ve always found it hard to talk about myself. Heck, if you look at our club’s newsletter, you will rarely see my name in it. Mainly because I write the thing, and can’t “toot my own horn” at all. It seems wrong some how. And that also is the reason I don’t have a “bio” on our club’s website. I’m not good at that stuff. Oh, I can write about others, but not about me.
So, where does that leave birthdays? Do I just leave the day out there, and let people know, so each year they can offer me well-wishes? Or do I still keep the date to myself, and then sulk about how no one cares? But I don’t think I really sulk; it just seems that way to me.
I guess it all goes back to not being a very open and trusting person, I reckon. And I don’t know, after all these years/decades, that I can change. Or perhaps because I don’t have anyone in my life to share it with (I’m talking a significant other, not family).
However... Happy Birthday to me.
Whenever it was.