As “luck” would have it, today is my birthday. I don’t have…to my knowledge…a single drop of Irish blood in me…just happened to be born on St. Patrick’s Day. I take no credit for the event…that was entirely my mom and dad’s doing.
Now, I haven’t enjoyed my birthday for years. Part of it has to do with…I suppose…that age-old quandary of realizing here I am…another year older…and what have I accomplished? Not much time left...better get crackin’. Ever since I was a little girl, I have hated the thoughts of getting old. But mostly I dread the day…as I explained a couple of posts back…because it is a reminder of the circumstances surrounding my mom’s death.
With both my parents gone, one of the things I miss is their annual “argument” or “discussion” as to the time of my arrival. My daddy always said I was born on a cold/crisp, sunny, Monday morning (although “fair of face” is not a description I ever attributed to myself) at 10:30a.m. Mom only disputed the time, saying I arrived a good bit earlier than that.
Now, today I turn…gulp…56. (I swear to God I don’t remember getting this old…just woke up one day, and here I was.) So, I was born wayyyyy back in the day before dads started going into the delivery room with the moms. Suffice it to say that Dad made sure Mom was all settled-in at the hospital then went on downtown to have breakfast at Kresge’s. He said when he got back to the hospital, I’m guessing around 10:30, he had his baby girl. But to my way of thinking, Mom was probably a better judge of the time I was born since she was…you know…actually there doing all the pushing and moaning and groaning, but I always enjoyed hearing my dad tell the story.
Anyway, there was a time when my trepidation of the approaching “day” was relegated to those birthdays that ended in a “zero.” You know 30, 40, 50. (I cannot even begin to imagine how I will react to 60…if I make it.) I used to take off work on the “0” birthdays and go shopping, to a movie, out to eat…you know…make a day of it.
Well, the Christmas before my 30th birthday, I was visiting my cousin, Skip, who was home from Arizona for the holidays, when he started badgering me about my upcoming “milestone” birthday. Now, I am a whopping six months older than he, but to hear Skip tell it, that six months is equivalent to ten doggie years. Anyway, he kept telling me what he was going to do…call me at midnight, send black balloons, etc. I told him to call all he wanted, he wouldn’t find me because I was taking the day off and heading out of town.
Actually, as I recall, I came to Cincinnati (long before I ever moved here) to spend the day shopping. Well, when I returned to work the next day, it was to find a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers on my desk with the following message – yes, I can still recite it verbatim after twenty-six years.
“Too bad you weren’t here yesterday when these flowers were fresh. Now, they’re just like you…one day older…and starting to wilt.”
Skip didn’t sign the card…he didn’t have to. Trust me, I knew who had sent them.
Today, I had a much more civilized present awaiting me at Eliza’s “The Velocity of Vincent” blog…my very own birthday greeting and a splendid “Bobby collage” to boot. Now THAT is a gift that will never, ever wilt. And while I truly enjoyed this totally unexpected surprise, I would dearly love to hear my dad tell the story about the day I was born…just one more time.
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13 comments:
Happy birthday!!! May you enjoy the day, avoid green beer, and catch a good ball game very soon!
Thank you, Tate. Not much of a green beer fan so no danger there. I've been "enjoying" the day by hooking up my new toy -- a DELL PC. That has been a bit of a challenge, but I conquered it and am actually writing this from the new PC.
As for the ballgame, I have a great seat for Opening Day on March 31st...field level behind homeplate...not the primo, ultra expensive seats...but an excellent seat nonetheless.
Happy birthday - and I'm sure Bobby would never, ever 'wilt' either ;0) My father (86 years young) always asks me how old I am on my birthday...Er...dad, should you not know this?!
Thanks, Diane. Wouldn't we ALL just LOVE to test that "wilt" theory for ourselves with our dear, dear Bobby. Perhaps your dad is just "testing" you to see if you remember how old you are. LOL
Happy Birthday, BobbyG.
In their old age my parents lost track of my exact birthday - different months, but mum's was the 27th, mine the 28th, dad's the 29th, brother who died at birth was the 30th and sister was 31st! I can see how it would have been confusing.
Thank you, Val. Oh my goodness, that certainly would have been difficult to keep track of. I had a brother who died at birth, too. Mom & Dad's first born. He lived one day.
CHOLO NEVER WILTS
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I have a great friend who never tires of reminding me I'm two weeks older than him, although I insist I'm not because I was a month premature... he, however, has married a woman 18 yrs his jnr, which makes him a dirty old man...
Ah, dirty old men...they're everywhere. But considering how much older I am than Bobby, I wouldn't mind being a dirty old woman with him...if he'd have me.
I have two close friends who are a couple of weeks or so older than I, and I give them both a hard time about it. Sara's birthday is February 27th and Linda's is February 24th. Linda just called a few minutes ago to remind me that I had "caught up" with her.
Birthdays are more fun when one has good friends to share them with. I am 14 hours older than my best friend (born different days) and we've made an effort to always celebrate together for the last 10 years or so, even if that means just a meal and a card.
You're absolutely right...birthdays are more fun when sharing them with friends. Sounds like you have a good one. Unfortunately, all my friends and family live hours away from me, so I'm on my own...lots of phone calls and emails, however.
Oopps...last comment was in response to Tate's. I thought it in my head, but forgot to put "Tate" in the comment. Ah, another day older...more lost brain cells.
Happy bday a day late. Guess it's cus I'm so much older, 12 months:)
Thank you, Mary. What day in March do we get to wish you a Happy Birthday?
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