You may have noticed (or not) that I have not written a column for the past eight weeks. It is not that I have not had any thoughts on things. I have. It’s not because I’m lazy; in fact, I have been chafing at the bit to write. But I am getting ahead of myself.
During that period, I had a birthday. One that at my age I prefer to forget. Alas, I have been thinking a lot about birthdays and how people celebrate them.
When you are very little, it is a big deal. You will likely have a party with a big cake with candles corresponding to your age. All your friends will be invited, and everyone will wear colorful pointed hats with your favorite cartoon characters printed on them. Of course, there will be gifts (I still call them presents) and refreshments.
As a young adult, you may gather your friends together at your favorite watering hole, indulge a bit too much and be driven home. (There is another way to say that, but I am being polite and dare I admit I am out of practice with my sarcasm.) Or you might spring for an expensive ticket to attend a professional sporting event. (Oh heck…and get soused there too.)
A more mature adult might take a cruise or a trip to a foreign land. Yup, people celebrate birthdays in many different ways.
During the waning days of summer, my bride and I were walking on the town wharf when two women approached us, dancing across the asphalt clearly “three sheets to the wind.” One, carrying an armful of tomatoes, offered to share. “Where did you get those?” I asked. “We stole them!” they proudly confessed. “We’re both turning 60 years old.” Whereupon they continued to prance down the dock to a waiting boat, singing “Life is wonderful.” And off they sailed. Well, that’s one way to celebrate one’s birthday.
I celebrated my birthday another way. I broke a bone!
While trying to remove myself from a picnic table, I caught my foot on the support bar and took flight, landing firmly on my right shoulder. No harm, no foul, I thought. (I know what you are thinking. I was not inebriated.) By the time I got home, a rather large “tomato” had grown on my shoulder. A trip to the ER for X-rays resulted in a diagnosis of a broken collarbone and bruised ribs. Eight weeks of pain and idleness (Did I mention I am right-handed?). Still in a sling, part-time, here I am back at the keyboard.
During my idle days recuperating, I discovered, thanks to Google, that an old Canadian practice had friends spread butter on a birthday boy’s nose so bad luck would slide off. Now I find out!
Good thing I am not Brazilian or Jamaican; they drop cracked eggs and flour on the celebrant’s head. In Spain and Italy, friends would have tugged on each ear lobe for every year I have been alive. That’s 160 tugs. Ouch!
According to Oddee.com, in the Southeast Asian country of Bhutan, birthday celebrations are very simple…they don’t have them. Now you’re talking! And in Greenland, our other 51st state, they throw tomatoes at you. No, no. I made that up. It just seemed a good way to end this essay.
Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and happily retired writer. His newspaper columns appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
By Dick Morgado