August 2019 Entry

The Surprise Party

It was supposed to be a surprise, but it wasn’t.  I had known it would happen since Franny’s birthday party.  As the birthday girl unwrapped her gifts, Jodie had turned to me and asked, “Now when is your birthday?”

“I don’t celebrate my birthday.  It doesn’t matter.”

“No, really,” pressed Jodie.  “Tell me. I want to do something for you.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” I replied.  “Please don’t ask.”

A few days later Jodie started questioning me about my mother, her name, where she lived, that sort of thing.  I didn’t think anything of it at first, but later I figured it out. I knew with enough googling she would find a phone number.  My best hope was that my mother might not remember what day I was born.  

My life isn’t filled with happy birthday memories.  The worst was the birthday that coincided with my first grade report card.  I got a beating that day while my grandmother cried. Maybe that colored all the birthdays afterwards. There are other childhood  memories of rained-out birthday parties and an embarrassing episode in a restaurant when my father drank too much.

I used to “celebrate” when I was married.  My ex liked to buy labor creating devices like the pasta press,the  bread maker, and the food processor. He envisioned me spending my weekends creating culinary masterpieces for his consumption.  One year I consistently and broadly hinted that I would like a set of pretty dishes to replace the mish-mash of cups and bowls and plates that had come down from our days in the dorms.  He took the hint, sort of. He was able to find the ugliest set of dishes (on sale no doubt) in the entire metropolitan area. It was made of clumsy white ceramic with a border that was too brown to be peach and too peachy to be brown.  One of the terms of the divorce was that he keep them.

It’s easier to let the day pass without note.  I thought about calling in sick, but I had an important client coming in and I hoped that I was wrong.  I had never taken a day off of work for my birthday. I couldn’t see doing it now.

Inevitably, it came mid-afternoon with cake and candles and the grinning stares of co-workers as I opened a pile of cheap gifts like novelty coffee mugs and humorous magnets.  I pasted on a smile and thanked everyone as graciously as I could. I doubt that anyone could sense how awkward and unhappy I felt. I knew it was meant kindly, but I hated every moment of it.  I despise being the center of attention.

Fortunately, coming during the workday, it only lasted fifteen minutes.  Afterwards I went into the bathroom, sat in my favorite stall, and cried.  I know it was all well-intentioned, but for me it was nearly unbearable. I’m thinking about looking for another job.  Jodie is unlikely to forget what day my birthday falls on.

A few days later Mom called to wish me a belated Happy Birthday.  She asked me how I had celebrated, so I told her about the party.

“Well isn’t that lovely,” she said.

“Yeah, Mom.  Lovely.”