Sunflower Powers Thru

Happy Birthday to Me

Another year has come and gone, with that skeptically accepted and increasingly ignored day of celebrating one's date of birth coming around again today. This day, December 5, 2006, I'm celebrating my 52nd birthday. I don't tell everyone my age anymore, as it's more interesting to keep people guessing. Only Miss Clairol knows about my gray, which is well-concealed by auburn hair rinse.

I think people somewhat "pigeon hole" you according to your age. Because people who grew up in the same world at the same time, similar ages do usually bring out similar actions and perspectives on things. Everyone alive in November 1963 remembers where they were when President Kennedy got shot. Everyboy remembers that ago of disco that most of us experienced in one way or another. People of the same age remember things in common, and with all of us Baby Boomers, we have quite a collective consciousness.

I consider myself somewhat a freak for my age, mostly because I didn't stay married long (50 weeks in 1977-78), and I never had kids. That's one thing I didn't anticipate in my life--not having children. When I don't dwell on that "dream" not coming true, I'm pretty happy with my life--though I never would have thought I'd be where I am, doing what I'm doing at my age. I thought about being 47 at the turn of the Century, but I never really thought past that. I need to do some forward-type daydreaming, and set some goals for happiness that can apply to who I am now.

At this age, I don't see me becoming a mommy--even if I married someone with kids. Anyone close to my age would probably have grown kids. I guess that leaves my family aspirations in the "granny realm," which would be a nice second choice. In the meantime, my mom continues to celebrate with me, providing a wrapped box of something nice, and a wonderful card to go along with it.

I do such a poor job of keeping up with my friends' birthdays that they generally let mine slip on by without notice. I had one friend who was planning to help me celebrate. He asked me what I wanted for a present--then he started describing what he wanted to get me. A heated discussion ensued. I've been through a lot with this guy-friend for the past 20 years, and our "discussion" made me realize that we don't have squat in common anymore.

One doesn't want to burn bridges, but it's sure time to slacken the connection with this one, for defense of my own self-image. The self-image one has is often reflected by what one "receives" from the world around them. I don't appreciate how he sees me, I know he won't change in his head because he's stuck in where we were 20 years ago--and I've matured.

I need to get past this feeling that he's a glob of gum stuck to my shoe that I can't shake off. We aren't the kind of friends that have sex anymore. We get together and talk, eat, listen to music, home things mostly--rather than going out on the town.

I'm not interested in him sexually anymore, for several reasons, but he doesn't give up talking about it. His line of discussions has become more than annoying. . . the basis of our "arguement" follows. . . and you tell me what you would have done or said, okay? I'd like to not feel alone in this, and IF YOU UNDERSTAND HOW I FELT, DROP ME A NOTE, HUH, PLEASE?

Him: "I brought the Santa hat from last year (he hands it to me, and I put it on. Feels good to keep the head warm). You said you have a red bra?"

Me: "Yea, I have a couple." I tried to change the conversation, but he came back to it.

Him: "Well, I've been saving some money up, and I figure I can blow about $100 for your birthday present. What do you think about black fish-net hose, and a red garter belt?"

(I was immediately taken that he wanted to use my BD as an opportuniuty to dress me up like a Barbie doll for him to play with. And where's the fun in that for me, when it's 20 degress outside with a serious draft from the doggie door. I was angry right off, but I sort of didn't respond to his question, hoping he'd get the idea that he didn't have a good idea.

Another 45 minutes passed, and he asked for the fifth time, since I hadn't directly answered, "What do you think about my idea for your birthday?"

Me: "I'm not taken by the idea. It's not what I had in mind at all. Last week you said you'd take me out for a nice dinner somewhere. That's the treatment a mature and elegant woman would want. When we met I was 32. Now it's 20 years later, and I've changed. If you're my friend, I'd think you'd realize that."

Him: "Well, of course, you've changed. So have I."

Me: "I don't think you've changed the way I have. You're still doing street drugs and bad-mouthing the family members who are trying to save you from yourself. I know the real story, because I was there when it happened. I'm tired of you rearranging truth to fit your needs. I won't listen to you lie about your family when I know it's not true."

"To celebrate a 52nd birthday, I was hoping for a something that was positive, uplifting, a memorial of good times had, something dignified and elegant--like the lady I hope I've become. . . . "

The conversation that followed included some things like "if you respect me, you need to treat me with respect. It's not something you keep in your head. It's not something you mouth out once in awhile. . . if you respect me, do you really think dressing me up like a sleezy slut is going to improve my self-image on my birthday. After all this time, is that the only way you can see me?"

He acted shocked, like I'd slapped him across the face (and I had wanted to). It was as if a person's self-respect was a concept he couldn't conceive of. When I spelled it out, and threw it back at him, he realized his idea wasn't so grand. He said, at that point, he had no idea what to get me for my birthday. He had already emptied his brain of all its contents. It was like he was standing on quicksand, with no graceful way, or much of any way, out of an uncomfortable conversation.

At that point he was on the defensive about everything, so I went ahead and gave him the rest of my opinion I'd been keeping to myself--to spare him from hearing it from one more person--as everyone else has already told him. I figured he might as well have my whole opinion about what's been going on for too long.

He knows, or he should, but he won't listen, and he won't take responsibility for the bad consequences he's facing from his drug habit. It's a bad drug habit that's robbing him of brain, and probably life expectancy.

According to him, everything is always somebody else's fault. It was his boss's fault that he put in kitchen cabinets upside down, and his boss of 10 years was wrong to let him go for one mistake. (I know of lots more than one mistake on that job.)

It's his father-landlord's fault that he got put out of a house he paid a mortgage on for 16 years. I reminded him he hadn't made a house payment in 14 months, but that was his father's fault for not being understanding, and just bad luck that he couldn't keep a job (though I reminded him about the job he got fired from for punching out a co-worker).

Everything is someone else's fault, and nothing has anything to do with crack, in his mind. He said he could quit if he wanted to. This time I didn't agree with him. I told him he couldn't stop without help--that he needed to stop, and he needed to get professional help. By then, he was about ready to explode.

Me: "I wish that for my birthday, you'd stop the drugs you're doing. It's changed your personality till I don't even know you anymore. It's taken your house, you can't keep a job, you're having to live with your dad, and you're not behaving like the person I used to know. Crack has made you all wrong, and you act like you can't see it."

So then the issue was no longer birthday celebration. The topic had now become a tirade on the way he intends to live his life. There was nothing left but to argue. He left my house, door slamming behind him, in less than 10 minutes. Happy pre-birthday to me!

I put my cell phone to register a silent ring from his phone numbers. Probably the very best birthday present I could get this year, would be for him to evacuate my life. If that comes to pass, I'll be a very happy 52-year old, with my dignity intact. The lessons you learn from getting older, can't be learned from a textbook!!! Some times, the best presents to get, are the most difficult to get open.

Rather than being my normally demure self this particular evening, I voiced my opinion loud and clear. I'm convinced it was the right thing for me to do. I hope the right consequences come out of all of this.