It’s My Birthday
August 12th. My birthday.
These trips around the sun are so fast that I’m surprised the planet doesn’t fly off its axis.
Another birthday, another year older. Another year of life now moved into the container of my past.
I remember the last day of grammar school as clearly as if it were yesterday. The time between 10 minutes to 3:00 and 3:00 on the last day of school in June before summer break. I watched the clock, willing its hands to move to 3:00 with all my might. Yet they continued to crawl. I was like a high-strung horse at the gate, champing at the bit to start the race.
I wanted summer break. I couldn’t wait for those three carefree months to start. Yes, for those of you who are younger, school ended mid-June, and we didn’t go back until mid-September. By then, we were ready.
Summer was not a time of idleness but it lacked homework and expectations. No one graded how well I accomplished summer vacation. Instead, it was days at camp and long nights before sunset playing outside with the kids on my block.
My birthday was the only thing I didn’t like about summer. August vacations meant few kids were around to wish me a happy birthday. My mom only threw one birthday party for me and I was five and the rest of my birthdays were excited expectation met with great disappointment. Because I was a child, I kept hoping and believing there’d be more.
I have silent movies of my fifth birthday party. We were in my backyard playing pin the tail on the donkey, my older half-brother acting as a nice person, placing the scarf over our eyes and spinning us around. Phil, the boy next door, was continuously shuttled to the back of the line by all the girls. Not yet four years old, he didn’t care, happy to be at the party.
My eighth birthday was the best, and that’s because we were on Balboa Island staying with Mom’s friends, Lois and Hy Dorkin. Today, they are legends on the island, with a bronze sculpture on Marine Avenue of them cuddled together on a bench. But when I was a child, they were just my mom and dad’s friends and the nicest two people you’d ever want to know. One thing I liked about Lois, other than her ready laugh, was that she wasn’t even five feet, not much taller than me. I couldn’t wait to pass her height, which didn’t take long. The other thing I liked is that her birthday was the day after mine, so when we were on the island, she always baked an extraordinary cake decorated better than any bakery.
On my eighth birthday, Mom’s best friend, Claire, and her son, Joel, were staying with us at Lois and Hy’s. We went to Disneyland that birthday and our tan faces in the photos reflect all the fun days we’d already spent swimming in the bay and playing in the sand.
Those were wonderful times, few and far between, but they live with the memories of the happiest days in my childhood.
Even so, they couldn’t erase all the rest of my birthdays when I woke up sad before the day started and nothing happened to change my nothing special feelings.
When I was in my twenties and saw my friend, Barbara, throw birthday parties for her kids, I was surprised. I didn’t know parents did such things for their children. And she did it every year. They were the center of attention and knew they were the most important person in their parents’ lives. What a gift to them.
I don’t blame my mom. She wasn’t the only parent who wasn’t throwing parties for their kids. It’s just that the other kids had birthdays during the school year so it was enough for moms to bring cupcakes to share with the entire class after they’d sung Happy Birthday to the lucky child who got to feel special for a day. I was an August baby so there were no cupcakes or happy birthday songs.
But today, on my birthday, my sweet husband is doing everything he can to make my day memorable. Bob’s gone through so much health-wise the past few years. I wish I could say he’s well today, but he feels good enough to make sure I feel special.
Beatty’s Chocolate Cake
Bob even baked his first cake—a delicious Barefoot Contessa chocolate cake. This more than makes up for all the other birthdays when not much happened or I woke up on a hospital couch next to him because he almost died the day before.
It makes up for the empty childhood days and the unhealthy recent ones because it’s today, and today is the only thing that matters.
I’m putting another candle on my birthday cake*, and I am beyond grateful. What a privilege!!!
Happy Birthday, Me!
*This is for every kid who grew up in Los Angeles in the 1950s:
Happy Birthday Ginni! You are loved!
Oh my! Sheriff John! That’s a memory for sure. Ginni, I just know your day will feel special, because you took the time to share your memories with all of us. Of course, there’s that marvelous cake and your very dear husband too!
Happy Birthday