The day was June 16th. It wasn’t quite summer in Buffalo, and if we’re honest, the snow piles were probably still melting at the end of the driveway like icecaps. Like the birds, the humans wanted to mate after a long, cold winter.
Nine months later, and voila. Another child born in the ‘70s.
My birthday is March 8th, and many of you have
probably done the math and thought, “Ew, she was thinking about her parents
conceiving her.”
I wasn’t.
I was thinking about Tim’s parents conceiving him. Ew.
That didn’t come out right. I wasn’t thinking about anyone mating, I was
thinking about the day and the weather not the act of conception. Ew.
For the past 30-35 years on this day, I say “Happy Birthday,
Tim” within minutes of waking. He doesn’t know it and I’ve probably posted on
his FB timeline a few times over the years, but without a doubt, I’ve wished him
a happy birthday every March 7th since I can remember.
We were classmates forever. His birthday is March 7th, mine is
March 8th. One more day! One more day!
It started innocently enough during our birthday week. He
brought in cupcakes, I brought in cupcakes. I imagine as we got into high
school, he pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from his parents or his friends’ parents,
I pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from my parents or my friends’ parents… it
was a magical cycle through the years.
I suppose his birthday started the countdown to mine. Okay,
Tim’s birthday is coming up. We’ll get the party started with him and then we’ll
end it with mine. But it didn’t end with mine. We still had Heb’s and then Missy’s birthday
to celebrate in March. What a glorious week in cupcake/alcohol/cigarettes land!
I was always excited to get to my birthday. Not so much for
presents, but because I knew the dark days of January and February were over.
The birds chattered, the sun rose higher, the school year was nearly halfway done
and it would be summer! The icecaps would be long gone… unless they weren’t; and
overall, moods brightened.
All because it was my birthday!
Happy Birthday, Tim.
