23

by Ophélie

Birthdays seem to be less and less of a big deal.

I don’t remember it, but my first birthday was, I think, a big deal.  My mom kept written records of our first birthday parties, and I remember seeing a list of gifts, people invited, celebrations.  Of course, by then, my sister was a week away from being born, so there was probably much excitement for that, too

Since our birthdays are so close, we more often than not had joint birthday celebrations.  I remember having a few friends over, sitting at a small table on the front porch, decorating cupcakes.  I must have been pretty young for that one.

Another year, (Seventh?  Eigth?) my babysitter brought us to McDonald’s (down the street; the usual place for cookies and apple juice), and when we came back home, there was a surprise birthday party.

Another time, I remember a pretty fancy iced-tea party.  Actually, I’m not sure that was for a birthday.   My mom threw some pretty awesome parties!  The more things go, the more my aesthetic tends to resemble hers.  I’d totally throw a fancy iced-tea party today!

My ninth (actually, probably tenth; my ninth birthday was just a few weeks after having moved to Vancouver) birthday was spent at Buntzen Lake.  I remember someone drowned; some dude jumped out of his canoe to fetch his sandal from overboard, followed it too far down, and couldn’t swim back up.

My fifteenth birthday, we’d just moved back to Quebec, and knew hardly anyone.  My mom, wanting to be festive, invited some people I’d been hanging out with over.  They were, I realize now, exactly the wrong people for me to hang out with, but, you know.  Small town.

My eighteenth birthday was handled by MusiquePlus, the French-Canadian MTV.   Having been born on September 2, 1986, the day they went on air, they decided to throw a whole bunch of co-birthday-celebrators a party, complete with guests, a concert, and beer.

Two years ago, for 21, J. and I went to Boston for the weekend.  Stayed at a gorgeous bed and breakfast, went to a Red Sox game.  I had been toying with the idea of shaving my head, and I finally did it on that day.  I got the most spectacular chills from the wind on my bare scalp that afternoon, and seeing myself in the mirror the next morning was thrilling.

Tomorrow is 23, and I have nothing planned.  J. and I are going to his family’s cottage for the weekend, and there’s a joint birthday fancy-outing with my dad scheduled for later in the month, but tomorrow, I’m going to work, and then going to school.  Birthdays make me nervous.  It’s almost like a judgment: how many people will remember?   Will it be special enough?  It’s terribly hard for me to not care.  Everything becomes very personal around my birthday.

What do you do to mark your birth date?