Since we had the big dinner out last night for my birthday, I am looking forward to doing as little as possible this Friday, which is the actual day. I may go to the movie. That's really it.
Usually, when I tell people I was born on the 4th of July, I get one of several reactions:
"Oh, you're a firecracker baby!"
"Everyone celebrates your birthday!"
"How nice, you never have to work on your birthday!"
Sometimes older folks will sing the portion of Yankee Doodle Dandy that goes "... born on the fourth of July!" and cackle with delight at being so clever.
There was a movie with Tom Cruise about fifteen years ago called Born on the Fourth of July, about a young man wounded in the Vietnam War. I remember seeing it and thinking Tom Cruise did a good job, but it was really not a great film.
Ironically, Tom Cruise was born one day before me, on July 3, 1962. He has brown hair. He has an adopted son and daughter. So do I. I used to do some acting. There, the similarities end. I digress.
Growing up, I always celebrated with a cake with a flag on it, and there were often little flags decorating the birthday area. One year, everyone in the neighborhood was outside setting off fireworks, and the neighbor next door stuck a lit roman candle in my hand and told me to have fun. I was 8 years old and terrified. I stood there holding it, frozen with fright. Since then, watching fireworks or doing much with fireworks has not been a happy thing for me.
July 4th is actually is a rotten day to have a birthday. Everyone makes plans to be with family and friends. It's tough to have a party on the day, or even nearby, because people are always out of town. FOr many years, I tried to plan parties on my birthday. Even when we lived on the lake it was tough to do.
This year, I tried to get all my close friends here in town together to go with me to Cheescake Factory last night and nobody could make it except Lesleigh. Nobody could make it July 5th. It's depressing.
I will be 46 on Friday and that number is causing me to ponder some things, none of them happy things. First, it's only 4 years away from 50, the half century mark. Just in itself, that's a scary thought.
Also, I am going through early menopause. Friday was a horrible day because I kept having mini hot flashes all day. So that reminds me that I will never have biological children. I will never grow a child in my body and give birth to it. Most of the time that's not something I get upset about. Every once in a while, though, I will feel this stabbing pain of regret, this pang of longing to raise a child from infancy. It usually goes away very quickly. It's something that will always be a bit sad to me, though. As much as I love my kids, I wish God had also let me have the experience of giving birth, of raising a child that was a biological part of myself and someone I loved.
We have a lot of family antiques in my house, and sometimes I wonder if I should give them away to my cousins with biological children. My kids never even met their great grandparents. For instance, should I give my grandmother's jewelry to her biological descendants? Would that be the right thing to do? Or would it upset my daughter, cause her to think she was less worthy than my cousins' kids, just because she doesn't share my biology? When I am gone, will there be fighting because I didn't pass along the family heirlooms to the biological descendants? Do any of my cousins' children even care? Should I just give it all away now? I don't know. It's a painful thing to contemplate.
So I have some regrets. There are a lot of things I look back on and wish I had done differently. Looking back is a waste of energy, though. You cannot change the past.
I try to look forward, to plan for the future, and try and make it the best it can be for my little family. Mother accuses me of being a bit of a control freak, like my dad. I am, and I know it. I wish I could be more laid back, but then I would be afraid something would get by me.
When I was in paralegal school here in Atlanta I had two roommates who were from Louisiana. They would sit on the apartment balcony for hours, drinking beer and looking at the woods. I envied them that ability to be relaxed and laid back. I could do that for maybe 15 minutes, max, and then I had to go DO something. Cut my toenails, balance my checkbook, read a magazine, but SOMETHING.
"Old age ain't for sissies." I don't know who said that, but it's very true. Going into it depresses me.
I just hope I never spend hours sitting in a chair, looking out at trees, getting drunk, and doing nothing. Even having a little pity party for myself is doing SOMETHING.
Thanks for coming to my little party.
