Celebrating My Birthday

Did my kids really need this?

I recently had one of those Big Birthdays, and my kids and grandkids really showed up. Some took long flights to get here, and there were toasts, tributes, and a performance I'll never forget: the story of my life sung to the tune of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo."

In the middle of all that love, my thoughts drifted to my 32nd birthday. My kids were two and four, and their dad and I had recently divorced. I thought I knew what single parenting would entail, but things I'd never considered kept catching me off guard. Like my birthday. This year there'd be no co-conspirator buying a present with my kids, no one loud-whispering to them all day to keep it secret while I ostentatiously heard nothing. I didn’t want my birthday to pass them by unnoticed, and so I decided to fake my own surprise. I bought a gift, wrapped it in bright paper, and got a birthday cake decorated with extravagant flowers in the kids' favorite colors.

"Guess what!" I announced. "It's my birthday and we're having a party!" They sang happy birthday at, believe me, full volume and “helped” me blow out the candles with misdirected huffs and puffs. I produced the wrapped gift and wore my best I-don’t-know face while they shrieked, "What's your present, mommy? What's in the box?" It didn't occur to either of them to ask who it was from.

For the next few years I gave them notice that my birthday party was coming up, and when they were five and seven, I thought I caught a foxy glance flash between them. Sure enough, they showed up with crayoned cards full of smiley faces, stick figures of the three of us, and adorable misspellings of happy, birthday, and mommy.

Did I really have to throw my own parties to teach my kids to celebrate my birthday? Not really. Over time they went to plenty of birthday parties for friends and relatives, could read a calendar, and learned the date of my birthday. They would have gotten there.

But I knew that more than cake and candles could come from celebrating birthdays, and I’d wanted them to have it all: the understanding that life isn't just about receiving love and attention but also about giving it; the empathy that might be boosted by contemplating what present someone would like; the knowledge that everyone in a family matters, so everyone is celebrated. You. And you. And also me.

I can't draw a straight line from doing those self-serve birthday parties to the Chattanooga Choo-Choo story of my life, but I'd do them all again—every cake, candle, and pretense of not knowing what was in the box. Sometimes there are things you just show up for. And sometimes that means showing up for yourself. And though you might never know it, your showing up might have an impact on someone else.