Matching Tracksuits

Growing up, birthdays were never of any importance to me. Our sect taught that the celebration of birthdays was a sinful vanity and that those truly trying to “be like Christ” would have no interest in shallow self-adulation. So I never once had a birthday party growing up, and I don’t really recall much acknowledgment of my birthday than “Hey, you’re nine today. Really growing up fast!”

One outcome of this is my apathy toward my own birthday. I’ve managed to adapt from my upbringing and realize that it is important for other people to have their birthdays recognized and celebrated, but I just don’t really care that much about my own. I might use it as an occasion to splurge and by a cigar that’s a little pricier than what I normally have (time this evening for a beloved Partagas Black Label — a beast of a cigar), but that’s about it.

Saying all of that, though, makes me feel I’m somehow condemning Nana and Papa. But they were only following orders: the church taught; they followed. They thought they were doing the best for me. And really, how is it different from anyone else in any other religion? The religion has strictures; either its adherents follow them or they don’t. “It’s Friday. I really shouldn’t eat meat,” Babcia said just yesterday, illustrating that point perfectly. So I don’t blame my parents in any sense of the word. But I am glad that I’m not raising them in such a strictly religious environment.

Is there a substantial difference between “Nobody’s like me” and “Nobody likes me?” Is there anything more valuable than a friend, a real friend you can trust, and who can make your day brighter? Can there be anything more difficult to a young sixth grader than losing the only friend he’s made in his new school (where either his elementary school friends don’t go or they are on a different team)? No, the Boy’s friend didn’t die, but he’s moving, and the Boy can’t take it.

He’s having such a hard time making friends because, in part, despite what I said above, we are raising our kids differently than most people around here. Football? I never watch it; E knows next to nothing about it. Video games? We never bought a console for either child. Restaurants? We rarely eat out. All the little things that kids can connect on, our kids don’t have. L has made up for it. In high school, she’s found her spot, and she even goes to Friday night football games. “I have no idea what’s going on,” she cheerily admits, “but I’m not going there for the game.”

So the Boy has been having a hard time with his social life, a hard time with one boy in particular who seems to be using him, a hard time with so many things. And the Girl has been having some ridiculously painful (but thankfully, not long-term serious) medical issues that make it difficult to sleep at night. And last night, they both exploded, leaving all four of his sleep-deprived and exhausted — physically, emotionally, and mentally.

That’s why for most of the day, we stayed home, doing as little as possible. L’s pain finally calmed down and she was able to sleep; K did some grocery shopping and then spent the rest of the day relaxing as the Girl slept, Babcia watched Polish TV on the computer, and the Boy and I played with his cars (first time in a long time we’ve done that).

In the evening, K wanted to head back to the store to get some kind of cake for me. The Girl, feeling better than she’s felt in probably a week, decided to go with her. And so they lit some candles and sang “Sto Lat” for me.

And then the Boy gave me his gift: a bespoke card with a twenty dollar bill in it. I looked at K, thinking maybe she’d given it to him to tuck in there, but as little surprise as I, she shook her head. He was giving me his own money.

I just about lost it right there…