Half a Decade

14 May 2010

Today is Owen’s birthday. He is five years old today.

Last year, one of my co-workers asked why I felt the need to take the 14th off of work and do something special with Owen on that day, especially since we had a birthday party scheduled for that coming weekend. Owen wasn’t nearly as attuned to times and dates back then, so I didn’t really have a good answer. My co-worker said, “It seems like you’re just doing something special on that day for your sake.” Which, you know, is true.

I think the day I became a father was the most significant day of my life, and I would be interested to hear a compelling argument why the same is not true for any father. So much changed on that day…more than even the obvious.  So I choose to celebrate this day, not just so that my kid has a fun time on his birthday, but because it’s an important date for the whole family.

When I was growing up, there was no celebrating birthdays. Witnesses have no logical reasons for this. Most of the rationales they throw out for abstaining from birthdays immediately fall apart when applied to other life-events. For example, many will tell you it’s wrong to set a date aside to honor an individual…yet they see no contradiction in holding wedding receptions, wedding anniversary parties, retirement parties, graduation parties and, heck, even baby showers (which are, essentially, birthday parties). More astute Witnesses will try to cite scriptures, but this too is fallacious, as any non-Witness bible-believer can vouch for. The bottom line is, Witnesses don’t celebrate birthdays for one reason: because the Watchtower Society, which dominates their lives, tells them not too. See, unlike murder or idol worship, Witnesses don’t actually find birthdays offensive. If the Watchtower Society was to announce tomorrow that birthdays are okay now, nearly all Witnesses would jump at the opportunity to begin celebrating them.

As it is, many Witness families struggle with this policy. My brother- and sister-in-law, for example, give their daughter presents on their wedding anniversary. I recall at least three occasions where my parents arranged for “surprise days” for me, in lieu of birthdays. Just two years ago, in fact, my mom, Uncle, and Aunt invited us to an arcade where they had cake and gifts for Owen and my second cousin. “This is so nice to do for the kids,” my mom said, “’cause, you know, we don’t celebrate birthdays.” In fact, even my grandfather, who loves the Watchtower Society so much he calls it “mama” used to call me every day on my birthday to share a scripture with me. Pathetic as it may sound, I looked forward to his calls, even arranging my schedule to try to catch his calls… It was the only birthday tradition I had.

Indeed, I can’t even recall anything about most of my birthdays. On my golden birthday, when I turned 11, I went to school all day. I didn’t show up with cookies or treats to pass around, and no one sang me a song. No one even knew it was my birthday. It rained all day, and I walked home getting wet. I asked my mom if I could go play with the Witness girl who lived down the street, but she said no. We went to the meeting that night.

I am reluctant to share what I said in the previous paragraph, as I fear it solicits responses like: “Oh, boo hoo, poor little Jimmy didn’t get presents on his birthday.” But I’m not shooting for sympathy. Once I reached adulthood, and pretty much concluded the Watchtower’s birthday policy was bullshit, I still didn’t do anything for my birthday. It didn’t matter, I figured.

But once I became a father, I realized that what mattered was not my birthday – but my child’s. On the day he turned one year old, I couldn’t help but celebrating the day: it had been one year since he, Jennifer, and I became a family. It was the anniversary of a day more important than my wedding, and certainly more important than my baptism. In reflecting on my childhood, I am absolutely appalled that my parents were able to pass by my birthday as if it were any other day; as their older child, it was my birth that first granted them parenthood status. In our materialistic culture, it’s true: presents are over-rated and usually unnecessary. A candle-topped cake is merely a tradition hoisted on us by our culture. So I do not mourn the absence of sweets and treats on my birthday; I mourn the absence of celebration: an air of joy, a day – or even just a few hours – taken out from our busy cycle of work-school-meetings to just enjoy each others’ companionship. To play, to laugh, to talk, to think, to run, to eat, to do whatever a family finds special to do.

As callous as this may sound, lots of children don’t make it to their first birthday. Likewise, lots of fathers and mothers aren’t there when their child reaches such a landmark. Since Owen’s birth, the Earth has traveled nearly 3 billion miles – five times hurdling around Sol and coming back around to this same place where it was on that first day he came into the world. The three of us have been there, with each other the whole time and on each anniversary of that first day. Raising a human life to age five is nearly as big of an accomplishment as simply living to age five – and if that’s not something to celebrate, I don’t know what is.