At some point today the clock will turn and tell me it’s my birthday. That on this date, in 1982, I was born. And that I’m now officially 28 years old. (Which, seriously, How did that happen?).
If I could make one wish (because that’s what people tell you to do on your birthday), it’d involve celebrating a birthday like I was a kid again.
When you were a kid, a birthday was about anticipating the date a week in advance, mom making you your favorite cake (home-made German chocolate!), mentally preparing yourself to blow out all those candles (and being able to do it in your Strawberry Shortcake pajamas), hoping your parents got you that certain something you wanted (a scooter for your Skipper Barbie) or having every girl in your class over for a slumber party where you stayed up too late eating gummy worms.
When you’re an adult, a birthday is condensed to a few cards in the mail from your parents and siblings, seeing your name on an office birthday list, having people you haven’t seen in 10 years wish you “Happy Birthday” on Facebook, and/or pondering what it means to turn another year older, wondering if you’re where you thought you’d be when you turned the age you’ve just become. Not quite the reverence the day is given when it involves turning six years old, right?
This weekend I’m celebrating my birthday with a certain something I’ve been wanting (a pair of TOM shoes!) followed by an out-of-town slumber party with three amazingly awesome girlfriends.
Which leads me to believe if ever there was going to be a birthday where a wish like this would come true, well, today may just be the day.
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by Gail Werner
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