Never Too Old

No one really likes to celebrate birthdays in my family. Sometimes we have 'parties' and 'get togethers' around the time of the person's birthday, but, you know, that's just a coincidence. No one likes to acknowledge that they're getting older, that another year has already passed by. It's like we think ignoring the fact will make it go away.

My friend's sixteenth birthday was today. Yesterday two other friends and I walked to Wal-Mart in the rain, talking and laughing and running as fast as we could to get across the street just in case a car popped up out of nowhere. We stood in the cake mix aisle for fifteen minutes debating what kind of cake to make (we decided on Swiss chocolate), what sort of frosting to use and how much of it to buy (again, chocolate all the way), what color of candles and plates and napkins and utensils to use (we bought the cheapest of all four, except the plates. We splurged on Zoo Pals plates.) Then we stood in line and worried if we would have enough money, and which things we would put back if we didn't. We cut through neighbor's yards on the way back, jumping in puddles and balancing on the curb like we were walking the tightrope, debating whether the Coke I was carrying could ever again be opened without it exploding. Three hours later we were still in the kitchen baking cakes and sugar cookies, covered in flour and chocolate and trying to be smarter than the bag of bright green icing. I went home exhausted, but it was the most fun I'd had all summer.

Today we all met in the park, long since having abandoned our plans for a surprise party, and spread blankets out under the shade of a tree. We laughed at our pathetic excuse for a pot luck dinner and skipped straight to the dessert instead, quickly realizing we had forgotten the cheap-and-yet-color-coordinated napkins we'd been so proud of the day before. Not once did we manage to light all sixteen candles at once– the most we could get was four at a time – and so instead we sang a very loud, very off tune version of 'Happy Birthday' four separate times in four different languages, trying to go as quickly as possible before the wind blew out the flames. Then we sat together in the shade, watching the kids on the playground and eating our 'chocolate covered Diabetes' cake. We talked for hours, commiserating about high school and sunburns and boys while arguing whether we would be charged with arson if the bargain-priced candles caught anything on fire.

The thought occurred to me while we were talking that we might not get to be together for much longer. We're all going different places with our lives, we have different plans for college and marriage and the future. Celebrating a birthday really is celebrating getting older, a bench mark to remember the the year that's passed by, and no one knows where the next year is going to bring. Love, maybe, or death, new friends and faces and forks in the road. Maybe by this time next year we won't recognize each other anymore; maybe we won't recognize ourselves.

I hope to always be young enough to celebrate my birthday and strong enough to enjoy what is right now, in this moment, no matter where I am or where I want to be.