Ageless birthdays

 It all started the day I turned one-year-old. My parents threw me a party. I don’t remember any of it, but I love the story they told me. My father was the high school football coach and he invited some of the varsity team to my party. They gave me a big porcelain porker (meaning a piggy bank) and then plunked in their nickels and dimes. Apparently I loved the sound and laughed out loud. Good story.

My family made a big deal out of our birthdays, making my brother, sister, and me feel very special on those very special days. We got to pick what to eat for dinner and there were, of course, cake with candles we blew out and, the best part—presents!

But my parents were not party people and the next actual birthday party I had took place years later, when I turned 12. It was a princess party, and the ten school friends I invited all dressed up as princesses. Long skirts, gauzy curtain capes, and card board crowns—we were gorgeous. All girls, of course. No boys allowed! (Times have changed. Girls seem to get crushes on boys at a younger age these days.)

That was my last birthday party as a young person. I found other ways to celebrate my special day. After Hal and I married and then began our family, it was mostly family-only celebrations, sometimes including going out to eat. Actually, with our kids, we did begin to invite their small (and then bigger) friends over. Often the whole missionary family gathered to celebrate the life of the child growing one year older.

When we lived in tropical Santa Cruz, Bolivia, other customs entered the story. On the birthday morning, our Bolivian friends gathered outside our bedroom window and woke us up with serenades. Loud and happy, accompanied by guitars, it woke up the neighbors too, but that was part of the fun. The birthday person was required to appear at the window, or at the front door, to receive the generous gift of music and friendship. Sometimes the celebrants came in for hot cocoa and pastries, bringing the goods themselves. It was a great way to start the day.

Some people seem to think that as we age, the magic of birthdays and parties diminishes. Birthdays are to be dreaded. Certainly not celebrated. One year older?! That’s scary.

Not so!

At least not for me and not for my friends around this retirement community. It feels good to be celebrated by family and friends, an affirmation that we matter, that people love and appreciate us. Who doesn’t need that kind of affirmation? Do we ever outgrow it? I haven’t.

Here on the fifth floor of the community, we have a special way of celebrating birthdays. My friend Francie creates a large colorful poster, usually featuring a baby picture of the birthday person, and the poster covers most of the apartment door. A birthday bear sits outside the door, on loan for the day. Then at an appointed hour, all the residents on the floor gather to serenade the life we are celebrating, wearing glittery crowns and other funny hats.  In addition to Happy Birthday to You, we have a series of silly birthday songs we always sing. It’s become a ritual in the positive sense of that word.

Yesterday we celebrated Francie’s 80^th birthday. Of course, no one is surprised anymore. The ritual is anticipated and sometimes we fake surprise just for the fun of it. And it’s always fun. In addition to the traditional Happy Birthday To You, we sang all verses to Blessed Be the Tie That Binds, and sensed the truth behind the words. We’re a family. And families celebrate birthdays.

No matter how old we are.