Just Another Day
This month, I’ll have to endure another birthday. You know you’re old when you have to do a little math to figure out your age. I never understood birthdays. First of all, I only had one birthday; the others are anniversaries of that day. And why is the day about me anyway? I had already been alive for months, and what we’re really commemorating is the day my mother agonized for 21 hours to get that 8-pound growth and a lot of fluid out of her body. She, I’m sure, remembered my birthday ... hopefully just the joyous moment when it was all over. Thankfully, I don't remember having to leave that warm inner sanctum for a relatively cold delivery room. Hey, turn off those doggoned lights! And what’s with all the noise? Bring back the “lub-dub.”
If you were thinking of wishing me a happy birthday, don’t bother. I always appreciate the thought, but instead, honor my mother’s nightmare ordeal that day. She had a brief moment of relief when it ended, but the marathon of feeding a helpless, crying machine, changing diapers, and nights with little sleep then began. I taught middle school for years, a time when young people, in trying to become independent, sometimes don’t appreciate their mothers. I always took time during my reproduction unit to remind them of what their mothers endured to give them their start in the world. I certainly didn’t want to terrify the female students, but they all needed a concrete illustration of what it takes to bring a baby into the world. No male can understand the experience of motherhood. And to think people make Mother’s Day and Father’s Day equally important. I contributed ½ of a cell and watched my beautiful wife vomit, lose sleep, and run to the bathroom every hour. And people congratulated me?
The truth is, we only have the birthday we do because we live on Earth, which completes its journey around the Sun in slightly less than 365 ¼ days. If you want to know how old I am, I’ll be turning 41 soon... since I was born on Mars. I might not live long enough to celebrate my first birthday if I lived on Neptune, but I’m a virtual Methuselah on Mercury, with my 320th birthday in sight. For children who wish every day were their birthday, send them to Mercury, where they could have two birthdays every Mercurial day... a nonstop party, day and night.
As people age, many dread their birthday, now that they're one year older. In fact, they’re only a few seconds older when that day arrives. My paternal grandmother was my hero; she always added 10 years to her age, believing age was a matter of dignity. For those decades younger who think 50 makes you a second cousin to a dinosaur, the 70s are a blast... yes, a few aches and pains, but way more fun. But then, I’m really 87.
Age is more about how you feel than what you see in the mirror. (I’m beginning to think my mirror came from a carnival “fun house.”) I believe longevity is largely a state of mind. Barring genetics or a lifetime of disrespect for one’s cells, I believe many who live long lives have a wonderful, positive, can-do attitude. For years, our next-door neighbor was my hero. Like my paternal grandfather, who lived to be 97, she never got the memo that she was old. At 99, she decided it was time to become a poet. She lived to be 101, probably because of that wonderful “every day is a new opportunity” attitude.
As individuals reach those later years, it is natural to wonder whether that birthday will be one’s last. We can react in one of two ways: be depressed and wax nostalgic for those early years, or view the day as a gift ... the beginning of another year to better oneself and help make the world a better place. Those who know me know that I lost all three of my siblings when I was young. That always evokes sympathy, which, while appreciated, is not needed. Gussie, Bill, and Kim will never have another birthday, but I have been blessed (lucky) to make it to another. I have an opportunity they haven’t had for over 40 years ... not just a birthday, but a day to enjoy and make the most of. I am living each day for the four of us. There’s no room for self-pity, only a chance to live a better life. However, I wonder if Jackie can fit those 320 candles on a cake?