So, I’m 22 tomorrow. No excitement or enthusiasm, I guess it’s going to be like this until my 30th, whether I will be excited then, is another question, or I should say: What would I be excited for? The fact that I hopefully graduated from college with a stable job in tow? That I have a family? That I have credit cards and bonds to pay off? Or that I am enthusiastic to hopefully live until 40? (Which they say is when life really begins; after witnessing my parents, I beg to differ. The only thing that possibly changes is that you don’t give a crap what anyone thinks and if you want to go to Pick n Pay in your tracksuit, you will do so, without hesitation. I'm looking forward to blood pressure medication, hormone replacements, a car that needs a service every month and my kid’s college funds.)When I look back at all my birthdays, I really don’t have any right to complain about any of them. My parents and family always made a point of celebrating them, whether I was keen to or not (I remember one birthday in my stroppy teenage years that I threw a hissy fit and ruined it for myself, what an idiot).
My birthday parties were probably the fondest of all my memories. My mom, being a working mother, never failed to go all creatively out for any of them. Decorations, food and the cake always happened to be the highlight, when I look back now. Back then, it was the presents and as a kid, you actually didn't care if the guests pitched up and immediately left, you just wanted them to place their presents in the ‘present box’ and whatever they did afterwards, was their own issue. Eat the food, don't eat the food. You decide. Take a piece of cake home with you for good measure because my mother won't know what to do with the rest of it anyway.
You also had to be the highlight of the party. There was no way in hell you would let one of your pre-school or primary school friends, even one of your siblings, direct the spotlight somewhere else. As a kid, this was the highlight of the year, where in every car trip throughout the 365 day period, you would try to discuss party ideas, like an adult, with your non-enthusiastic mother (who tried to sound keen while focusing on the road) when your birthday was six months down the line. Even the present options were discussed way before the time because you couldn’t let her forget what you wanted, even if you changed your mind on a daily basis, like kids do. I take my hat off to mothers for being so on the ball and remembering all the different trends and ‘in-things’, we were never disappointed with our mom’s presents, even if we mentioned the idea months before. (Whether she got it out of us in a round-about way, like mothers do, in casual conversation at bath time, is beyond me, I can’t really remember.)I have had many themed birthdays. My earliest, if I can remember was a dress-up party, I remember because we have the moment on one of our home videos somewhere and the odd photo has surfaced every now and then. With a gingerbread house cake (completely decorated in sweets) and my aunts and uncles dressing up like Aladdin and Cruella De Ville, I thought I was the berries. The nice thing about kids parties is that mother’s aren’t stupid when it comes to party food. A) They know that all the kids won’t eat that much and will probably lick the icing off a cupcake and put it back on the plate and B) They, as individual mothers, don’t want their or other mothers children sugared up and hyper. So, party packs and a huge cake seems to be enough. They go all out for the adults food, I suppose that’s just how it is and being kids, we were none the wiser. There was food and there was a cake, this clever strategy obviously went over our heads, while we were faced with the excitement and the whole environment of it all.
As you leave primary school, the folks tend to try ween you off of parties, because they are probably sick of writing out multiple invitations and buying bulk junk food. They try to swindle you with a family supper at Spur and an extra expensive present, which they assure you has made up for the cost of the party, definitely. It’s so easy to be swindled by your parents, but I suppose it worked out for the better.Yet again, we were none the wiser and everybody was happy, in the moment.
My 16th, I had in my aunt’s garage in Noordhoek (with her permission, away overseas). Disco lights and all the garden equipment cleaned out, we had a stereo with the latest pop music, ample dancing room and obviously the party food. (No booze, I was a square at that age). Being a teenager then, it too had it’s excitement because all the girls were in their giggly and silly age and the boys were obviously the highlight of the party. The good old days when boys actually told you how they felt and five minutes later, you were in a ‘steady, serious’ relationship. (By serious, I mean the whole school knew about it, even if you only saw each other at school and at the odd organised movie night at the closest mall.)
My 17th wasn’t so great. A family member passed away on that day, suffering of cancer, so nothing really happened and after the ordeal, I promised myself I would go all out for my 18th, the following year.
My 18th – You know you have one of those embarrassing birthdays? Yip, this was the one. My cousins and a few work colleagues, along with my mother started off at the Red Herring and she decided to buy us all shooters and drinks. (This started at 6pm). So, by the time we reached the next venue at about 9, I was well on my way. I’m not going to say who this particular ‘asshole’ was, actually I will. Name and shame. Daniel Perrins decided to give me a birthday drink (being he was bartending that night) that f*cked me over from here to Sunday.(That was obviously the point, I've realized now). All I remember is blacking out and then the hazy image of me puking my lungs out, while holding onto the toilet seat for dear life, with my cousins holding my hair. Then blackness. Then a hazy image of me with my head outside of Jamie’s car window, while she drove me home (she didn’t want me to puke in her car). Then blackness. Then a hazy image of her removing my fairy wings, at home and putting me to bed. Besides this, I had invited a much older guy I had been talking to and had keen interest in, he pitched up especially for my birthday and I was so drunk that I didn’t even speak to him and got transported home at 9pm, leaving him to talk to absolute strangers when he probably had ten better things to do on a Friday evening. Ruined my chances there, didn’t I?
That’s not the worst of it. I managed to completely rip the toilet seat off the actual toilet, from puking so violently. To my knowledge, the bartender didn't know that to this day. I later found out that he thought it was the coke heads, angry with him because he made the bathroom toilets coke-resistant with a special adhesive. He now knows the true story. That toilet seat remained broken for months, even when the place closed down. I obviously left my mark there, solidly.
My 19th I had at Suzi Q’s, when you could still hire out the ‘VIP’ section. What a fail. My friends pitched up but it happened to be one of those ‘quiet’ nights where the dance floor and the bar is empty, so you end up requesting your favourite Manson songs, because it’s not like it’s going to annoy or bother anyone, besides the bar men. Dancing on an empty dance floor with your black angel wings on, a drink in your hand and your best friend trying to make sure you a) didn't drop it and b) didn't fall over and hurt yourself. Good times.
My 20th was really casual. Since it fell on a Sunday, I organised all our friends to meet at the Herring for drinks that evening. There isn’t much to say about it, other than it was a relaxed, good time with loads of booze, laughter and surprisingly, presents.
My 21st. The biggest and best of them all. Present wise, party wise etc etc etc. I got about 4000 in cash from relatives and friends, a laptop from my folks (my excuse was college the following year) and a digital camera. My party was probably the highlight. A Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. I had it on a Saturday afternoon (so I could cleverly get pissed that night, since I had my entire family at my actual party and they wouldn't think I was a sophisticated delinquent, like some of them do). We went all out with the decorations (as you can see by the photos) and even the food. My mom went to great trouble and effort to make it big. Besides all the beautifulness, the speeches (my mother in tears, which I think I have seen thrice in my entire life) and the dreaded home family video (which I knew would make it’s appearance) topped it all off. I had all my friends and family there and I will remember it on my death bed. See, 21sts can be civilised and fun, without booze (Who am I kidding? There was loads of booze! I just never got my hands on any because I was too busy making sure everyone else was ok and that there wasn’t any awkwardness, the usual responsibilities of a hostess).
So, this year I have exams on my birthday, and whether the gods were involved in this or not, I happen to be writing my favourite subject on my birthday. Creative Writing. (Which you don’t have to study for and I am looking forward to it. That’s something at least). My father and brother are taking me out for supper, since my dad is down from overseas, for the first time on my birthday, since Grade 2, so that’s another bonus. The sad thing is that the older you get, the scarcity of the presents occurs. My parents are sending me to visit my sister for a week and that trip is going to cost them enough (I love how my mother moans when I book a hairdresser’s appointment as their birthday present to me, and she replies: “You told me it was going to cost R300, not R500. Grahamstown is costing a lot, as it is". I replied, casually: “I know, but you never asked me if I wanted to go and I never asked. You just randomly made the plans and was told you ARE going.” That kept her quiet and a discreet smile crept onto my stepfather’s face).
So, I hope to see at least a few more birthdays. Maybe next year I’ll be overseas, or have a boyfriend to share it with, or even have an office party at a new job. Who knows? All I know is that I hate that the novelty of birthdays wears off as you get older. Bring back the good old days, where you used to say: “4 more sleepies until my birthday” and enthusiastically wake your parents up at 5 in the morning, when they only went to bed the night before at 12 because they were icing cupcakes for your birthday party the next day. I hope to be able to be up until midnight one day, icing Dora the Explorer cupcakes and corresponding with fellow mothers on who's bringing tea and who's bring milk tart to the party the next day.....One day!!!
Maybe I should go jump on my parents tomorrow morning just for the f*ck of it. I’d love to see the reaction. I’ll think it over ;)
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