"My least favorite day of the year" joke
Today, October 12, is my birthday. It is also my least favorite day of the year.
This is not because I am getting older – I actually prefer the maturing process, as I feel far more comfortable with myself with each passing year (I am passing into year #42). The problem actually stems from a stretch of time when it appeared that nearly all of my friends forgot or ignored my birthday. I wouldn’t make a big deal of that, except that I never forgot to send best wishes for any of my friends’ birthdays (or their wedding anniversaries, or year-end holiday greetings). I’m not making myself seem clever – all it required was writing the dates on a calendar and looking at the calendar every once in a while to determine what was on the horizon in terms of activities and events.
So being in a situation where I was sending birthday/anniversary/holiday cards and getting nothing back in return became rather depressing. This was especially acute on my birthday, since it is the one day of the year where I would be feted just for staying alive. With each passing year and each lack of recognition, I began to hate my birthday more and more. In retrospect, it appeared that my distress was misplaced – why am I blaming myself and denigrating my birthday?
Perhaps the final straw came last year when my friend Jason (who was mentioned earlier in a posting about his zany driving) promised to take me out for my birthday. I have to admit I had a child-like glee over that, since it had been many years before anyone ever bothered to make such an offer. As luck would have it, he never showed up. I was left waiting for 90 minutes at my home, calling him a few times to find out where he was. I eventually got in touch with him, and he claimed he was traveling all day and wasbe too tired to keep his invitation. He promised a rain check, but never delivered on that promise. I discovered later he had been evicted earlier that morning – I could’ve accepted that as an excuse (hey, that is a bit more important to him in the ultimate scheme of things), but ultimately it ruptured our friendship and I never could truly forgive him. We are no longer in touch.
Thus, my birthday has that odd residue to it. Maybe someday I can recapture its value. I think I am starting on that: I eventually jettisoned everyone who never quite thought it was worth the bother to take 60 seconds and send word (even in an e-mail) to say “Happy Birthday, Phil!” Which, I guess, is the best birthday present I could give myself.
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