Published Sept. 28, 2012

Why can't birthdays be like they were when we were kids?
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What do I want for my birthday? I don't know. I truly do not know. The 10-year-old me, who relished in delicious suspense days before my birthday, would be quick to name several items of desire: clothes, toys, games. And even in my 20s, I would think of things I hadn't been able to buy for myself: earrings, sweaters, picture frames.  But this year, and probably in the last few, I stand mute when asked this annual question. Because all I really want is love, health and happiness for my family. I want a close circle of friends with whom to share life's pleasures. Joy, peace, prosperity. Blah, blah, blah.   If these could be wrapped in a bow and presented in tangible form, then would that blessed birthday anticipation we used to feel return?  And would it even compare to the excitement I felt as a child ... I remember flying down the dark red stairwell of my childhood home the morning of my fifth birthday, anxious to lay my eyes on the pile of gifts I knew would be on the dining room table. Soon, bits of Holly Hobby wrapping paper flew to reveal a miniature broom and dustpan set. Yes! I could be a little helper now! The elation, eyes a-sparkle. And there's more! My cousin was coming for cake and ice cream. When she arrives, we clutch each other in a cascade of glorious little-girl giggles. Mom takes pictures. We play a wonderful game of pretend in the kitchen as grandma makes supper. And to top it off, it snows. On my birthday. In September. We clap and dance around the house as big, fluffy, magical flakes fell outside. It is a happy, happy day indeed.  Of all the birthday memories surfacing as I write, this one stands out as the shiniest birthday of my life. Others that made the cut: The cat statue from my mother soon after I announced I was starting a cat collection and I didn't think she was listening; a surprise party on my big 3-0 when everyone came (I had an inkling); the year my husband presented me with a sterling silver necklace with a green stone pendant; the time my daughter slyly invited everyone over the day before my birthday because we would be spending my actual birthday on a road trip; and the year when money was tight, but my oldest took money from his savings and urged his dad at the last minute to take him to the store where he bought me a package of socks and a DVD of "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh," my favorite childhood movie.  Most other birthday memories have fallen into an abyss somewhere in my head. I'm afraid I've joined a lot of other adults as I catch myself thinking: "No big deal. It's just another day."   I worked with someone (she was in her late 30s/early 40s) who figured out how to hold onto that childlike anticipation of her birthday. She began a countdown 2 weeks before the big day and would announce with glee, "10 more sleeps!" She never gave her secret. I'm not sure if she had one. She just loved her own birthday. Perhaps as adults, we feel we shouldn't. Maybe we feel too bogged down with day-to-day activities. Society makes us feel we're too old for such nonsense. We feel too guilty or selfish. We forget how to celebrate ourselves. Maybe we should try to remember.
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