I recently moved into a house. This is quite a refreshing change from the cramped college housing I've grown used to over the last two and half years or so. The reason such a move is now possible is because, somehow, I have graduated and can live wherever I want. I began the work of settling in, and soon started having a few friends come over and see my new place.
Showing people around your new house or apartment has always seemed a bit silly to me. You lead them from room to room as if you were a tour guide at an English castle, throwing in bits of guide-like commentary from time to time. "This is the kitchen," you announce, as if you might have placed the fridge in the bedroom. Your friends nod and say something polite and complimentary. In their position, I never know what to say. "Well, the bathroom certainly appears functional," I'll say, forgetting that this isn't really the point of the exercise. I have the same problem when it comes time to congratulate people for having a baby. I mean, I suppose its a great accomplishment, but its hardly something that hasn't been done before. I don't really have any difficulty with the mothers, but you're expected to congratulate the father too, who didn't carry the baby or squeeze it slowly from his body. "Congratulations on successfully procreating!" I want to say to him, as if his part were difficult too. Of course, if pregnant mothers are half so difficult to deal with as I hear, maybe the guys do deserve some credit for surviving the gestation period at all.
Speaking of births, last week was my twenty-fourth birthday. Were I more considerate, I would have called and thanked my parents for successfully procreating me back in 1981, but somehow it slipped my mind. I did, however, receive some gifts and notes of appreciation from family and friends. Thanks, everybody. One letter, written by an aunt, who I adore and who shall remain anonymous, said, "Congratulations on your birthday and on graduating! They are both great accomplishments." Call me picky, but I couldn't really see, at first, how my birthday was supposed to be an accomplishment. It seemed to me like congratulating the father for the birth. My birthday wasn't really my accomplishment at all, I didn't really do anything. My mom did all the squeezing (and I love her for it). If anyone should get the credit, its her.
However, I have managed to stay alive for twenty-four years, and perhaps thats what my aunt was referring to. Is that what birthdays are, really? A celebration of your continued survival in this dangerous world? When we say "Happy Birthday" we are really saying, "We're so glad you're not dead yet!" or (for those in their later years of life), "We can't believe you're not dead yet!" Do we start to fear birthdays because we know they are finite, limited, numbered? Or do we look forward to them as a sign of another year's succesful existence? A birthday is a new start. You say, "OK, I made it this far. Lets try one more year." And you keep on doing that until one day you don't make it. If you're lucky, you'll succeed many many times before then, and reach a ripe, old, wise, and satisfied age. That, I think, would truly be an accomplishment worth celebrating. So, congratulations everybody. If you are reading this, you are still alive. Keep up the good work!
Showing people around your new house or apartment has always seemed a bit silly to me. You lead them from room to room as if you were a tour guide at an English castle, throwing in bits of guide-like commentary from time to time. "This is the kitchen," you announce, as if you might have placed the fridge in the bedroom. Your friends nod and say something polite and complimentary. In their position, I never know what to say. "Well, the bathroom certainly appears functional," I'll say, forgetting that this isn't really the point of the exercise. I have the same problem when it comes time to congratulate people for having a baby. I mean, I suppose its a great accomplishment, but its hardly something that hasn't been done before. I don't really have any difficulty with the mothers, but you're expected to congratulate the father too, who didn't carry the baby or squeeze it slowly from his body. "Congratulations on successfully procreating!" I want to say to him, as if his part were difficult too. Of course, if pregnant mothers are half so difficult to deal with as I hear, maybe the guys do deserve some credit for surviving the gestation period at all.
Speaking of births, last week was my twenty-fourth birthday. Were I more considerate, I would have called and thanked my parents for successfully procreating me back in 1981, but somehow it slipped my mind. I did, however, receive some gifts and notes of appreciation from family and friends. Thanks, everybody. One letter, written by an aunt, who I adore and who shall remain anonymous, said, "Congratulations on your birthday and on graduating! They are both great accomplishments." Call me picky, but I couldn't really see, at first, how my birthday was supposed to be an accomplishment. It seemed to me like congratulating the father for the birth. My birthday wasn't really my accomplishment at all, I didn't really do anything. My mom did all the squeezing (and I love her for it). If anyone should get the credit, its her.
However, I have managed to stay alive for twenty-four years, and perhaps thats what my aunt was referring to. Is that what birthdays are, really? A celebration of your continued survival in this dangerous world? When we say "Happy Birthday" we are really saying, "We're so glad you're not dead yet!" or (for those in their later years of life), "We can't believe you're not dead yet!" Do we start to fear birthdays because we know they are finite, limited, numbered? Or do we look forward to them as a sign of another year's succesful existence? A birthday is a new start. You say, "OK, I made it this far. Lets try one more year." And you keep on doing that until one day you don't make it. If you're lucky, you'll succeed many many times before then, and reach a ripe, old, wise, and satisfied age. That, I think, would truly be an accomplishment worth celebrating. So, congratulations everybody. If you are reading this, you are still alive. Keep up the good work!
Comments
Welcome to blogland, Matt. This is great.