I read John Gray's column Wednesday in The Saratogian about birthdays. He didn't like them. He gave reasons such as you didn't earn a reward or praise or the like. He suggested it more or less is just another day. I have a son who feels the same way as John does.
But I wholeheartedly disagree with both of them. Maybe it's because I reached my 80th birthday recently. To me that's accomplishment for anyone. But I always felt this way.
After all it is a special day in your life. If you don't like or enjoy it yourself think about the woman who gave birth to you. If she hadn't you wouldn't be here. Right?
In most cases, when you were younger or even today (if she's still living) she celebrated it by giving you parties with your friends or family.
My four children were all born within three months of one another (different years of course): one in July, two in August and one in September. I would gather close to 30 family members and friends together for one big party in about the middle of those months. We feasted on hamburgers and hot dogs, sodas (wouldn't do soda today), beer and wine for the adults, chips and all kinds of salads. The day was completed by at least two birthday cakes and other goodies. It was fun no matter what the weather.
I remember one celebration in particular that it rained. We managed by cooking on the grill just outside the confines of the garage. We'd laugh as the kids would run through the raindrops and puddles. But it was a special day in their lives.
OK, maybe it was more for me than them. But I'm the one that remembers their births. And, as I said previously I love mine and hope I never feel differently.
Anyway, John "Happy Birthday." It really is a special day in your life or at least in your mother's.