Are we celebrating birthdays to recognize the actual day you were born? For some strange reason, that is often what I seem to associate birthday celebrations with. Maybe that’s because on each of my own birthdays so far, there is always a recounting of the Sunday, as Mom reached for her shoes and Dad said let’s go, we’ll be late for church, and instead, she’s like, we’ll be late for the hospital. Or for each of my brother’s birthdays, there is the joke that he purposely chose a public holiday so that nothing was open and the doctor had to schedule a substitute doctor. So in many ways, it feels like a birthday is reason to remember the day itself, to remember the day that changed the life of your parents, siblings, family.
And then, I also wonder, do we only celebrate birthdays with and for the living? Even if we can’t be physically together, birthday cards and birthday presents are still mailed and there’s the birthday song voicemail or video call. Wishing a happy birthday has to go to someone, and be received and acknowledged in return. It’s like, your new coworker’s birthday is of course celebrated with cake in the office even though you don’t know the story of their birth and honestly, could care less about whether it’s chocolate cake or cupcakes they prefer. Yet it’s practice to do so because he physically exists and it would be strange not to say happy birthday to someone sitting five feet away on their birthday because he will respond positively and enjoy the special treatment for the day. Yet, grandma, who died last year, no longer gets a happy birthday regardless of how many birthday Lego sets she used to give you, or how many family gatherings were conducted in her honor. It’s like, if you aren’t there to receive and recognize the actions and well-wishes, you no longer deserve a birthday.
There are edge cases. Somehow, if you are famous enough, others will celebrate your birthday, even if they never knew you. Be that Jesus or Washington, the world or society can choose to turn your birthday into a theoretical celebration that no longer dedicates toward just the day you were born and the joys of that, along with the impact of the specific family, but to the miracles or achievements you have made. Once you reach that level, the birthday serves to recognize your life and all the subsequent (positive) impact you had, for generations to come. In so many ways, these birthdays are certainly not about the day you were born or the stories of that day, but the life you led and things you did that made possible for those who merely know of you.
If that’s also what’s important about a birthday, then why is it that family and friends just don’t continue to celebrate someone’s birthday? Even if that person is no longer with us physically in the world, did they not impact your life? Would they not have been an even more intimate version of Lincoln to you? No, instead, it’s considered somewhat morbid to keep celebrating the birthday of someone who has died. No, instead, in many cultures, you get categorized as a dead person, with your individual birthday stripped away, a day that, if you were alive, would get lots of attention and joy, but no, you’re dead, so here, we shall allot you a different day, a random day in the year, to celebrate everyone else who has died. Happy birthday?
Maybe it still just hurts too much. Maybe I can’t categorize you along with all the other dead people during Dia de los Muertos or Qing Ming Jie or the fact that American culture doesn’t even have a day for you. Your life deserves its own day to celebrate, and maybe that’s on me to remember. So I guess whether you’re turning 30, 100, or forever 26, I want to celebrate you. Happy birthday.
