A birthday to remember

I recently celebrated my 56^th birthday. Maybe “celebrate” is the wrong word; once you reach a certain age, the central function of birthdays is to act as a reminder that you are another year closer to oblivion.

Throughout my life, I’ve never attached much significance to birthday cards, sending or receiving. On the occasion of my 56th, three of them landed on my doormat and it later struck me how their content seemed to capture – albeit in an offbeat kind of way - the essence of my current situation.

Courtesy of David
Castillo Dominici at
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Card number 1 was from my 20-year-old daughter. The envelope was addressed, “To the old man”. Emblazoned on the front of the card was, “Happy 60^th birthday”. I suspect she has always viewed me as her “old” dad since she popped into this world two decades ago. And at least she spared me the “old git” jibe that has decorated some of her previous communications.  

Card number 2 was from my parents, both now in their mid-80s. The picture consisted of a bright red racing car, the sort of card you might send to an 18-year-old boy-racer shortly after he’d passed his driving test. The age-inappropriateness of the birthday greeting indicated that they still view me as their youngest child, their baby, despite the fact that I’m not far away from drawing an old-age pension.

Card number 3 was from my wife. The verse within was beautiful, proclaiming her unstinting love for me over the 33 years we’ve been together. Reading it moistened my eyes. That was until I noticed that the front of the card read, “Happy anniversary to my wonderful husband”. She had purchased the card on the day we had been out together in Manchester city centre, wining and dining, leaving me in the pub while she nipped across the road to the card shop; a combination of moderate alcohol intoxication and long-sightedness had led to the error.

My 23-year old son didn’t send a card. When he (coincidentally) called round later in the day, he confessed that he had forgotten it was my birthday. “Happy birthday, paps”, he said, as way of atonement when I reminded him. “Are you going to treat me to a couple of pints?”

On the night of my birthday, just prior to switching off the lights, I gazed at my three cards on the shelf above the fireplace. In an inspirational instant it struck me how love can be expressed in a multitude of ways. I smiled, turned and went to bed. I slept well.