My sympathies about your birthday. When I moved to Texas 45 years ago, mine fell on the first day of school three years running. Not only did I get to spend my birthday in a horribly undercooled high school in 105-degree heat, signing for textbooks and being told “I’d come to your birthday party, but we’re going out of town for Labor Day,” but then I really dreaded going home. My mother’s birthday was Christmas Eve, so I had it (literally) pounded into my head from the age of five that “Merry Christmas/Happy Birthday” joint presents were the height of unacceptability, but for my birthday? “Happy birthday, and why aren’t you grateful for 3-ring binders and a pad of paper, you brat?” (My senior year in high school, the calendar finally adjusted seeing as how my birthday fell on a Saturday, so not only was I the only 16-year-old in my senior class for three days, but I got to spend the actual day bussing tables at a Furr’s Cafeteria for my first high school job. Oh, and I discovered that my present was the class ring my father pushed me into buying. Any wonder as to why I turned out the way I did?)
My birthday is Jan. 5, not only after all the money has been spent on holiday gifts, but also all of the energy on holiday parties and New Years. By the time my birthday rolls around, I am lucky if I get some birthday wish posts on Facebook.
Makes me wish I was Jewish! Well, not really. I forget what I am. Methodist? What kind of holidays do they have? I can't remember. But thanks for this in-depth peek into the world of Judaism, it's exotic to a boy from Ohio. A masterpiece. Thank you.
My sympathies about your birthday. When I moved to Texas 45 years ago, mine fell on the first day of school three years running. Not only did I get to spend my birthday in a horribly undercooled high school in 105-degree heat, signing for textbooks and being told “I’d come to your birthday party, but we’re going out of town for Labor Day,” but then I really dreaded going home. My mother’s birthday was Christmas Eve, so I had it (literally) pounded into my head from the age of five that “Merry Christmas/Happy Birthday” joint presents were the height of unacceptability, but for my birthday? “Happy birthday, and why aren’t you grateful for 3-ring binders and a pad of paper, you brat?” (My senior year in high school, the calendar finally adjusted seeing as how my birthday fell on a Saturday, so not only was I the only 16-year-old in my senior class for three days, but I got to spend the actual day bussing tables at a Furr’s Cafeteria for my first high school job. Oh, and I discovered that my present was the class ring my father pushed me into buying. Any wonder as to why I turned out the way I did?)
Pretty wild, man.
But hey, it’s all material. Like Nietzsche said, whatever doesn’t kill you, you can stick in a Substack…
You're hilarious! Even though I'm not Jewish, Happy Rosh Hashanah! 👏👏
Thanks, Yolanda.
I think, no matter what the religion, we’re all semi-idiots…. But that’s me.
Thanks again for the kind message.
My birthday is Jan. 5, not only after all the money has been spent on holiday gifts, but also all of the energy on holiday parties and New Years. By the time my birthday rolls around, I am lucky if I get some birthday wish posts on Facebook.
Nightmare!
That has to suck nine ways to Sunday… These accidents of birth can kill you.
Makes me wish I was Jewish! Well, not really. I forget what I am. Methodist? What kind of holidays do they have? I can't remember. But thanks for this in-depth peek into the world of Judaism, it's exotic to a boy from Ohio. A masterpiece. Thank you.
But Methodists have Methadone, so it evens out, right?