The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Reluctant Birthday Boy

Yeah, that's sort of the look I have every year at this time.  

Not to be completely narcissistic, my birthday was last week.  This is not mentioned to induce any congratulatory words or merit undue attention.  I clearly hate the spotlight and always have.  Why then, you may ask, do you open up your life every day and in every way on this blog?

I never promised you a simple human being, did I?  

But, indeed, I have always been uncomfortable getting any attention, both good or bad.  And, of course, the celebration of one's birthday is the annual pinnacle of being focused upon.  It has never been easy for me, but, these days, the day arrives with even more intensity.  There are Facebook greetings from people you haven't seen in thirty years.  Folks are reminded on that website that there is a birthday to be recognized on that day.   Like a robot, you respond with a message.   I'm the same way.

"Happy, happy birthday.  Have a great day."

Of course, if it's somebody I am close with, the greeting is more personalized.  But, those folks are likely still getting the old fashioned recognition from me.

Yes, I still send a birthday card.  In an envelope.  With a stamp.  I'm stuck in the past and loving it.

Unlike some people,  I view every birthday equally.  No one year is more important than the next or the last.   I don't pay more attention to those ages that end with a "5" or a "0."  To me, age is still a number and not representative of who you are as a person.  Besides, when I think of my parents at the age that I now possess, we are as different as night and day.  Yes, ninety is the new eighty.  Eighty is the new seventy.  And orange is the new black.  Whatever.

Truth be told, I prefer the day to pass simply.  If there's dinner with a good friend or two, that's ideal.  For years here in Los Angeles, my writing partner and my good friend, Djinn from the Bronx, did this round robin birthday tournament.  Two of the three would take the third out to a surprise restaurant.  We never went to the same place twice.  And ultimately sampled the best eateries in town.  Other friends participate with me throughout the month of February.  A good meal with a terrific pal is perfect.

This year, I actually and unintentionally returned to the scene of the crime.  I spent my birthday in New York for the first time since 1997.  As I look at the calendar, I realize that my birthday, as it did in that year, fell on a Tuesday.  Two days later in 1997, I moved to Los Angeles.  On February 13, 2014, I was also scheduled for a flight to Los Angeles.   Symmetry that is interesting but ultimately means nothing.  I will, however, never fly on my actual birthday.  That's too convenient a feng shui for the fatalist buried inside me.

Meanwhile, the symmetry didn't hold up.   A major snow storm pushed my flight to Friday.  And the birthday week took another hit.

So, as simple as I like my birthday, there have been years where it was much more.  Whether I liked it or, in most cases, not.

Look at the photo above.  In my family, hosting a birthday party for one of the kids was a D-Day-like military ploy.  My older cousins would be there with their minds elsewhere.  The children of my mother's friends would be there and, other than their own birthday parties, we never saw each other.  Where were my neighborhood pals?   Where were my classmates?   The kids I was going through the wars with each and every day.

Another mystery of life I never could understand.   You can see how puzzled I am in this photo.  I still don't.

Dinner last night"  Moo shu pork from First Szechwan Wok.