What is it about birthdays that make them so much fun? Is it because it’s “all about you” for one whole day? (nothing new there, right?); is it because you get to rip open presents like a 4 year old?; the phone calls from friends and family?; is it the cake and ice cream? Maybe it’s all of the above.
How is it that I can look forward to the day like a child waiting for Santa, yet still cringe when people sing “Happy Birthday” to me? It’s an incredibly painful experience. My sons used to capitalize on my pain, and enjoyed telling waitresses that it was my birthday…even when it wasn’t. Ugh.
I heard a new term this week: social lubrication. Makes me giggle like a fifth grader. This article suggested that the art of practicing good manners was merely social lubrication. We say and do things not because we mean them, but because we’re supposed to say them. The example used was Facebook. All of your Facebook friends can see via an auto-generated list, that it’s your birthday. As a result you get birthday greetings from the guy you sat next to in study hall sophomore year; from the daughter of your high school friend; and from your senior year chemistry teacher. Do these people really know anything about me? Probably not- but by golly they know it’s my birthday! I don’t care that they are only sending me messages because Facebook told them to, nor do I give a rip that they don’t even know where I live. I just enjoy that they did it (refer back to “all about me” comment).
The comedian Brian Regan has a shtick about birthdays. He talks about how programmed we are to reply with niceties (aka, social lubrication), even when it doesn’t make sense. Someone tells you, “Happy Birthday” and you reply, “You too.” Only to then realize the illogic. He goes further to talk about trying to say, “Good luck” and, “Take care” and somehow landing on, “Take Luck!” Cracks me up…
My family loves two holidays each year: Christmas, because we all believe in Santa, and our own birthday. Don’t get me wrong- we all acknowledge each other’s birthdays readily. It’s a big deal! But, let’s be honest here. It’s really so that when it’s our own birthday we can sit back and take it all in. I do not hate knowing that the morning of my birthday, one of my sibs is sending a text blast to the entire fam saying “Don’t forget it’s Rhon’s birthday today!” I do not hate that each sibling that calls me opens with, “Am I the first?” It’s a tradition to try to be the first text or phone call of the day. I vaguely remember calling my brother one year on his birthday at 1:00am, simply to be the first. I felt it was the ultimate payback for all those 5:30am singing-phone call-grams I received on my birthday (which he always reminded shouldn’t be a problem because it was 6:30am central time).
This morning I got a dark-thirty text from my big bro, texting the birthday song and ending with, “Am I first?” I reply that he is. “Am I gonna get blogged?” I reply that it’s likely. Blogging can now be blackmail… I like it.
Soon afterwards I get a birthday text from my oldest and it warms my heart. Still sleepy-eyed, I go downstairs for some coffee to find a rose, chocolate, a card and the coffeepot ready- all from my youngest son. I stand there all teary eyed (OMG, don’t old people cry at stuff like this?). Clearly, I have the most thoughtful children in the world.
I love that the friend in Dublin whom I’ve never laid eyes on sends birthday wishes. I smile when the girl from 8th grade cheerleading sends me a note with, “Slainte” because she remembers that I’m Irish. I enjoying knowing that before 8:00 this morning I heard from every person on this earth that I love most. How lucky am I, that on this day, my 46th birthday, I even got a present from my Daddy.
Social lubrication is a reality, but does it truly matter why someone sends good wishes your way? In the absence of knowing how to respond to the 50+ pseudo strangers posting well wishes on my Facebook page, I’ll just stammer out….”Take Luck!” However you slice it, it still gets to be all about me today and I don't hate that!
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