from the perspective

He Forgot My Birthday

I know I miss people’s birthdays. Mostly because there is not a huge red blinking light on my Facebook feed that says “it is so and so’s birthday today”. Instead there is a small reminder off to the side, easily missed. When I miss someone’s birthday I usually first feel like crap then I give them a call and send my belated wishes. I am only human…

But I had always assumed a child’s birthday was different. How could a parent forget the day they welcomed their own into the world? Well they do, parents forget birthdays too.

A few years ago my dad forgot my birthday. No call, no email, no card. This was surprising and hurt but when the clock struck midnight and there was no sign of his wishes, I shrugged and tried to comfort myself by saying “it’s just a day”.

Next day my dad called and I acted as if nothing had happened - all was grand, I was another year older. But something did happen, he had forgot his own daughter’s birthday. I have learned that I used to have a tendency to mask my hurt and try as hard as I could to stick my chin up and forget about it. Strength was more powerful than vulnerability - little did I know that vulnerability is a multiplier of strength.

But it is my dad, the one who knows the tone of my voice is covering tears or the sound of happiness is bursting with joy. I could not hide from him, no matter how hard I tried. Instead of playing into my game of masking my emotions, he took the brave route and went for the heart- “I know I missed your birthday. I am sorry.” My automatic reply was “No worries, I understand”. He was relentless though, “That must have hurt, tell me how it made you feel”.

There it was, seven words that cut my defenses down: tell me how it made you feel.

He was willing to take on the pain I was about to show him simply because that was the right thing to do. He didn’t ask to know how I felt because he wanted to feel bad (he already did). He wanted to teach me in that moment that my hurt was valid and should be shared. So I let it out, mostly through tears words like “you are busy” or “why” came out.

I remember that day more than my actual birthday. I consider it one of the “pivotal moments” when the expression of my hurt was invited instead of ignored, when I chose vulnerability instead of strength.

“Tell me how you really feel” is still a powerfully scary statement to me. It takes a lot of trust to answer. But no matter how scary it is, it remains powerful because it is an invitation into being myself and for that reason, I will continue to answer it.