It was 7:45 in the morning and I had 15 minutes to get to the office with about 10 more minutes left on my commute, but instead of trying to actually get to work early, I was driving into a Kroger parking lot in a real shady neighborhood to get a sheet cake.
Let’s back up here.
I am not a big “birthday” person. I just don’t really get the hullabaloo that goes into it. Like, why is this day more important than another. And on that note, why do you get more than one day? It’s my birthday weekend! Can’t wait for Birthday Week! BIRTHDAY MONTH! How did you become important enough for a whole month? Black people BARELY have a month to remember their ENTIRE HISTORY, but you get a full 30 days because you were born? Seems like a bit much.
My deal with birthdays, however, is not how other people spend theirs. It’s about how I spend mine. I get incredibly insecure around my birthday. I just have this overwhelming feeling that no one really wants to be there. We’re all busy people with social lives. I know that you have better things to do than going out to dinner with me and the random potpourri of friends I have in my life. I can hear you answer your coworker when they ask what you’re up to this weekend, exasperated when you say “I got this birthday thing tonight downtown. I don’t really want to go but we’ll stop by for drinks and then sneak out.” Fine. It’s fine. We’ve all been that person. It’s just that my fear is that EVERYONE at my party feels that way. I can hear it in their voices as we all try to sing Happy Birthday in tune. So, why pressure people into doing something they don’t want to do but feel obligated to do?
I didn’t always feel this way. I used to L O V E my birthday. My dad would call me every morning on his commute to work before I went to school to wish me a Feliz Cumpleaños. My mom would always make my favorite meal for dinner. I’d get spoiled with presents. I mean, what kid doesn’t love their birthday? The big milestones were always celebrated in large fashion with parties or large outings. During MTV’s heyday of TV programming, My Super Sweet 16 was on air and I decided to have my own Super Sweet 16 party. Since those kids were spoiled rotten trust fund babies and could afford things like a new car or an exotic animal as presents, mine would have to be a little bit different. Instead, I had a trailer park theme and encouraged guests to dress in their best Goodwill studs while they feasted on corn dogs and donuts and drank 40’s of malt liquor out of a paper bag. I even made a grand entrance down the stairwell to the tune of Bossy by Kelis. Did I mention I was turning 23? What a time to be alive!
But after that, birthday’s just seemed unnecessary. Like, who cares that you’re 26? 29? 30 would have been a big one but I was pregnant with my Little Man and visiting family in Detroit, so it was very low key. Plus, people just really don’t care about my birthday. They just don’t! Probably because I lead the way by not acknowledging it, but now it’s like a snake eating its own tail. I don’t want to hear in their voice that they really wish they could make it but they already have plans, and they don’t want to hear me complain about how my birthday isn’t a big deal anymore. So, let’s just call it a wash.
As for celebrating other people’s birthday, I’m all in but admittedly, I’m really bad at it. Which brings me to the sheet cake.
In my new job, I have become a reporting manager for the first time in my life. This has actually taken some getting used to, especially when she asks me things like if it’s ok to run to CVS during lunch to pick something up.
“Sure, I don’t care,” I’d say, before remembering that she’s actually asking me as a BOSS, not a peer. “Ooooh. Um, yes. Yes, that would be fine.”
She’s wonderful and great at her job, and honestly, I don’t “manage” her at all. But technically speaking I am her boss. Which is why I probably should have done more for her Birthday.
Her coworkers, which are also her friends outside of work, came over to her desk on a day she was out of the office and started putting up streamers and small gifts.
“So, what were you going to do? How do you want to divvy up the responsibilities?” one girl asked.
Uhhhh, what? Responsibilities? I’m supposed to be responsible for her birthday at work?? I didn’t read that in the job description! They obviously had ideas of their own that they were going to do anyway, but were being nice and offering me the chance to be included.
“Right! Because it’s her birthday. And I should probably do something nice for it. Ok. Well, how about I get the cake?”
“Sure,” one responded, hesitantly. “We were going to get her donuts, you know, because that’s her favorite thing, but a cake would be fine.”
“OR! OOOOR…I could get her… hummus? She likes humus. Eats it every day for lunch. Would that work?” I was grasping at straws here.
“Uh, yeah! That’s clever. So you’ll get the hummus and we’ll get cupcakes.”
“Or I mean, I can get her a Bundt cake too, if that works. She’d like that, right? Or both? Do you think both is too much?” This conversation was going nowhere and the niceties weren’t helping.
“Just let me know which one so we don’t overlap,” the coworker said, clearly seeing that I was completely out of my league with this birthday stuff.
So the weekend came and my motherly duties clouded my memory of getting her ANYTHING for her birthday, let alone a bundt cake or humus. Monday morning, it’s the first thing I remembered. Maybe Whole Foods is open? Nope! Ok, ok, what about a bakery on the way? Nuh-uh. Crap. I’ll just go to the Kroger down the street. Oh, what’s this? A semi-truck rolled over at the end of the street, blocking all traffic to that location? COOL! The powers of my GPS took me to another Kroger in a much worse part of town. My options were limited. I could either get 6 cupcakes where the frosting flavor was clearly Red #5 or go all in on a 24 person sheet cake. I opted for the latter and got this:
This cake was OFFICIALLY overkill for a girl I have only known for 2 months. This was the definition of overcompensation. The clock was ticking and I had no choice but to walk into the office with this giant declaration of birthday love.
Wow! That’s a big cake you got there! Kathryn’s going to have so much to eat!
I get to her desk and I realize that I probably should have cleared up the whole “who’s bringing dessert” conversation from earlier because it was adorned with donuts AND cupcakes already. I had to push some things around to even make it fit in her cubical. Since she is a complete gem, she was so gracious and genuinely grateful, but NO ONE ate this cake.
You guys. This is 2 days later! TWO DAYS! There are like 50 people in this office and officially 4 pieces of cake missing! I can’t even get people to participate in the times I celebrate OTHER people’s birthdays. I was ready to throw in the towel and commit to not only abstaining from celebrating my birthday but everyone’s birthday. Oh, you were born 27 years ago today? That’s great. You’ve managed to stay alive. Let’s go to dinner where we can’t hear each other and try to split this bill 15 ways. I was prepared to be a total cynic from this day forward. Why celebrate something that literally happens to another person every single day around the entire planet? How do we still see this as something special? I felt I had all the ammo I needed and was prepared to be obstinate on this matter.
And then… Adam died.
Adam, this larger than life, hilarious, loud, giving, attention seeking, handsome, competitive SOB, died suddenly and senselessly. He was my best friends boyfriend and never really left our group of friends post break-up. He was even invited to her upcoming wedding, as was his other ex-girlfriend who he was also still good friends with. People who came into Adam’s life rarely left Adam’s life because he cared about keeping relationships.
He also cared about birthdays. And holidays. And made-up holidays, like the anniversary of his business, which he would celebrate annually with a boat party. He would spend a fortune on Halloween costumes or at least put an incredible amount of attention to detail around them. He showed up for people. He was at my birthday gatherings when others weren’t. Despite me being on the “fringe” of his social group, he always showed up when he was invited. Not just for me but for everyone.
As the shock starts to wear off and the sadness sets in, people have flooded his Facebook page with postings, memorializing him. These stories have helped his friends and family come together and start to come to terms with what happened. All of them speak to his love of life and how much he left his mark on this earth. And it’s such a cliché, but it makes us all want to hold each other a bit tighter, laugh harder, live longer, love deeper.
Before someone dies, death feels impossible. After it happens, it feels so imminent. You can either stay indoors forever and live in fear or soak up all the life that is around you.
People celebrate birthdays because it IS a big deal that you’re still alive. You matter. The people who love you matter. And if I have to endure an awkward, out of pitch rendition of Happy Birthday sung around an oversized sheet cake for one day of the year, I’ll take it. I’ll take as much of that as I can get.
xoxo you magnificent ham.
DailyDebs 