Feb. 11: Birthdays
More than 30 years later, I
can still remember how Jason Abdeljalil’s face fell when he laid eyes on
his new pair of brown corduroy pants.
We were gathered in Jason’s basement to celebrate his ninth birthday. His guests sat in a circle, clutching their presents, waiting their turns to hand them over. Igave Jason a Darth Vader action figure. Stewie gave him some Hot Wheels. The last present he opened was from some other kid, who had got him clothes.
“Clothes!" Jason exclaimed about a half second after I saw how disappointed he was. Not even 10, Jason had already learned that compassion is more important than brutal honesty. Had he been honest, he would have said: “Why the heck did you get me clothes? I’m a nine-year-old boy. Do you think clothes are going to put a smile on my face? Come on... get me a sled or an Atari game or something with spaceships on it. But not clothes."
But he said none of those things. He said thanks and he pretended to be delighted with his clothes. But of course he wasn’t delighted with his clothes because the clothes included the aforementioned brown corduroy pants. No one is ever thrilled to receive brown corduroy pants. When was the last time you said: “I look great in this shirt but Ibet I’d look fantastic if it was completed by a pair of brown corduroy pants?" I thought so.
That kid wrecked Jason’s birthday. To this day, kids everywhere are having their birthdays wrecked by people buying them clothes*. I understand that clothes are necessary but that doesn’t matter. Know what else is necessary? Food. When was the last time you got a baloney sandwich for your birthday? Or a drumstick? Or a can of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee? I thought so. Heck, I'd rather wear a training bra than brown corduroy pants.
When you’re a kid and you have a whole bunch of presents to unwrap, you want those presents to escalate in awesomeness. If gift number one is a pair of roller skates, you want gift number two to be a digital camera, gift number three to be a Corvette Stingray and gift number four to be a swimming pool. The last present should be a spaceship or a time machine or a backrub from Jill Hennessy. It should not be clothes, especially because when you get a kid clothes, he’s always going to open the clothes last. Murphy’s Law.
When my kid has a birthday party, I’m going to take all the presents into my bedroom, lock the door and open the presents myself. If I see any clothes, the kid who brought them is going to get sent home and told to come back with a better gift. Once that’s done, I’ll rewrap the presents and insist that my kid open them in order of awesomeness. I understand that might hurt a few kids’ feelings, but so what? Kids have to learn that life is all about competition anyway. Besides, I don’t want my kid to get a new bike and hockey stick and then have to end it all with a new paperweight. Heck no. I love my kid too much for that.
I’m pleased to announce that Jason never wore those brown corduroy pants to school but we did glimpse him playing with the Darth Vader and the Hot Wheels in the sandbox one day. I still can’t remember the name of the kid who gave him the clothes, but Ihope he learned his lesson.
-
* The only exception to this is athletic wear. If a kid is a fan of a particular sports team, it’s okay to get him jerseys, hats and T-shirts with that team’s logo. Heck, all I ever get for Christmas anymore are Calgary Flames shirts.
-
I had to open with that vignette.
Like everyone, I've had some great birthdays and some crappy ones.
My 18th birthday saw my friends Cade and Jamie take me out for a night on the town. I confess that I got drunker than I ever hope to be in my life. I tried to break into a Re/Max real estate office. Later, I puked in Cade's sink and I fell asleep on the bathroom floor in his basement.
My 20th birthday in Vancouver at Cade's house. A playwright I admired gave me a gift - a writer's guide. It meant a lot. It meant she believed in me.
My 25th birthday with my first real girlfriend.
My 36th birthday on MacLeod Trail South.
My 38th birthday - spent sledding with my sister and brother at Heritage Park, then Chinese food and the Flames game with my sis.
Those were good birthdays. I had some bad ones too.
But know what? I'm not going to dwell on them.
We were gathered in Jason’s basement to celebrate his ninth birthday. His guests sat in a circle, clutching their presents, waiting their turns to hand them over. Igave Jason a Darth Vader action figure. Stewie gave him some Hot Wheels. The last present he opened was from some other kid, who had got him clothes.
“Clothes!" Jason exclaimed about a half second after I saw how disappointed he was. Not even 10, Jason had already learned that compassion is more important than brutal honesty. Had he been honest, he would have said: “Why the heck did you get me clothes? I’m a nine-year-old boy. Do you think clothes are going to put a smile on my face? Come on... get me a sled or an Atari game or something with spaceships on it. But not clothes."
But he said none of those things. He said thanks and he pretended to be delighted with his clothes. But of course he wasn’t delighted with his clothes because the clothes included the aforementioned brown corduroy pants. No one is ever thrilled to receive brown corduroy pants. When was the last time you said: “I look great in this shirt but Ibet I’d look fantastic if it was completed by a pair of brown corduroy pants?" I thought so.
That kid wrecked Jason’s birthday. To this day, kids everywhere are having their birthdays wrecked by people buying them clothes*. I understand that clothes are necessary but that doesn’t matter. Know what else is necessary? Food. When was the last time you got a baloney sandwich for your birthday? Or a drumstick? Or a can of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee? I thought so. Heck, I'd rather wear a training bra than brown corduroy pants.
When you’re a kid and you have a whole bunch of presents to unwrap, you want those presents to escalate in awesomeness. If gift number one is a pair of roller skates, you want gift number two to be a digital camera, gift number three to be a Corvette Stingray and gift number four to be a swimming pool. The last present should be a spaceship or a time machine or a backrub from Jill Hennessy. It should not be clothes, especially because when you get a kid clothes, he’s always going to open the clothes last. Murphy’s Law.
When my kid has a birthday party, I’m going to take all the presents into my bedroom, lock the door and open the presents myself. If I see any clothes, the kid who brought them is going to get sent home and told to come back with a better gift. Once that’s done, I’ll rewrap the presents and insist that my kid open them in order of awesomeness. I understand that might hurt a few kids’ feelings, but so what? Kids have to learn that life is all about competition anyway. Besides, I don’t want my kid to get a new bike and hockey stick and then have to end it all with a new paperweight. Heck no. I love my kid too much for that.
I’m pleased to announce that Jason never wore those brown corduroy pants to school but we did glimpse him playing with the Darth Vader and the Hot Wheels in the sandbox one day. I still can’t remember the name of the kid who gave him the clothes, but Ihope he learned his lesson.
-
* The only exception to this is athletic wear. If a kid is a fan of a particular sports team, it’s okay to get him jerseys, hats and T-shirts with that team’s logo. Heck, all I ever get for Christmas anymore are Calgary Flames shirts.
-
I had to open with that vignette.
Like everyone, I've had some great birthdays and some crappy ones.
My 18th birthday saw my friends Cade and Jamie take me out for a night on the town. I confess that I got drunker than I ever hope to be in my life. I tried to break into a Re/Max real estate office. Later, I puked in Cade's sink and I fell asleep on the bathroom floor in his basement.
My 20th birthday in Vancouver at Cade's house. A playwright I admired gave me a gift - a writer's guide. It meant a lot. It meant she believed in me.
My 25th birthday with my first real girlfriend.
My 36th birthday on MacLeod Trail South.
My 38th birthday - spent sledding with my sister and brother at Heritage Park, then Chinese food and the Flames game with my sis.
Those were good birthdays. I had some bad ones too.
But know what? I'm not going to dwell on them.
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