Birthday this, birthday that
A lot of people like birthdays, but I’m not enamored with these traditional celebrations.
If you have a birthday and invite me to come, I will. But, I don’t eat ice cream. And if the cake is mixed from a box, don’t expect me to even stick my finger in it.
Singing Happy Birthday, why do that? Happy Birthday is the worst song of all time. Every time I hear it I feel like a chump for listening to it again.
OK, maybe it is cool for kids. But, if you’re reading this, you’re an adult. Please stop singing this goofy song in public. Nobody will ever singe it better than Marilyn Monroe when she crooned “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” to John Kennedy.
Blowing out the candles is all right, and presents are fine. But who wants to wake up in the morning faced with the prospect of yet another birthday to “celebrate.” All the birthdays we have to remember these days has to be a product of overpopulation in the world.
Or maybe they are plotted by party store retailers to make us support the economy by buying more pointed hats with rubber band neck fasteners from China.
Heaven forbid if you forget someone’s birthday that you are supposed to remember. Lifetime relationships have been altered by this simple oversight. I do it all the time. It’s crazy.
I’d rather stay in bed and not have to deal with another birthday. That goes double for my own.
Birthdays are society’s way of putting us in our place. Some friends throw a surprise party for you on your 40th birthday and your are pronounced middle aged. They throw one on your 80th birthday to see if you can still blow out the candles.
Who needs to be reminded that life on earth is finite?
Birthdays remind me of things I want to do, few of which succeed if I act my age. Birthdays should be a starting point, not a milestone.
Napoleon Hill, author of “Think and Grow Rich With Peace of Mind,” began subtracting a year from his age annually when he reached his 50th birthday.
When everyone else celebrated his 60th birthday, Mr. Hill happily celebrated his 40th. When he was 70 he enjoyed his 30th birthday.
A person turning 99 who subtracts a year annually starting at age fifty will be a year old, a child coming into the world with bright eyes and a beautiful palate from which to color life.
Of course, subtracting a year from one’s age annually is just a game, a way of teaching ourselves to look at life in a manner that offers limitless possibilities not found in the actuary tables that society expects us to buy into.
Grow old if you want, but count me out on my birthday.