As I turn 19 today, I pause to consider the changing meaning of my birthday. Birthdays were nearly as exciting as Christmas when I was a child. Not only were there many gifts that would be forthcoming, but I was the focus of all attention, something that never bothers a kid still in the single-digit ages. My mom made cupcakes for me to bring into school, about half of which survived the bus ride, as my greedy accomplices and I devoured them in the back. There was also a girl who had my same birthday in our class, so February fourth always meant double cupcakes.
The birthday party might have been that day, or it might have been moved to the weekend. Homework had little significance when it consisted of a single ditto sheet. The party was not an escape from the burdens of the world, but a celebration of the fact that we had no burdens, and one of us had aged a year. We would have been mourning if we understood or appreciated the carefree lifestyle that we were leaving behind.
The meaning of birthdays and birthday parties has changed since then. Perhaps part of this is because nothing changes noticeably from birthday to birthday. When you're little, you may be able to stay up later, or enjoy any number of privileges that come with age. After some time, the focus becomes the driver's license. In Massachusetts, that meant 16.5, so I wasn't even looking forward to my birthday. After gaining the license, you could argue the new age to look forward to was 18, but no one really got excited about being able to vote. Lottery tickets and cigarettes were the biggest thrills that came with that birthday, and neither of those hold any special meaning for me.
Now the biggest thrill I have to look forward to is being able to legally buy alcohol, and really doesn't that take some of the fun out of it? It's always a challenge to obtain the alcohol, and the fact that we aren't suppose to have it makes it that much better. There's no excitement when you can walk into a liquor store with a clear conscience.
After 21, birthday goals become much more distant and obscure. Retire at 65. Sell house and move to Florida at 66. After that you invest all clothing funds in white pants and play as much golf as possible until you die.
Perhaps this line of thought is a bit on the depressing side for my 19th birthday. It's not that I dislike getting older, or suffer from some denial about the aging process. Nor do I dislike my birthday. It just no longer holds the magic that it once had. As a child, any holiday where the giving of toys was a possibility held my fixation for the weeks leading up to it, and the birthday was no exception. Now, toys are a thing of the past, and while clothing and practical items are nice, they just can't seem to capture my excitement in that same way.
This year, I found myself really looking forward to a hand-vac for my room. Somehow, though, even the thought of a clean floor couldn't rekindle that excitement of a new Lego set for my eighth birthday. Birthdays are still fun at this age, but they are in their prime while you are in single digits. So this year, rather than think about what it feels like to be 19, I think I'll try to remember what it felt like to be eight.
