If I don’t make a big deal about your birthday, don’t get offended. I forget everyone’s birthday, probably because I don’t care. I certainly don’t expect anyone to make a big deal, or even remember, mine, which is in October some time.
When I was 21, my parents made the mistake of telling me they had arranged a gathering to “celebrate”. Armed with this information, I refused to turn up and stayed in Cork for the weekend.
When I was younger, in primary school, I invited all the kids who didn’t hate me to the mandatory birthday party. I regularly absented myself from the screaming, chomping afternoon throng to hide in the front room, where the encyclopaedia was (and still is), or my bedroom to actively engage with Lego.
Eventually, my parents noticed and asked me if I wanted to waive birthday parties, to which I assented with relief, being previously unaware that this was an option. I believe that there comes a time when you should stop making a big deal about your birthday, and stop expecting others to make a big deal about your birthday, and that time is ten years old.
In other words, if you feel that your friendship with me is based around remembering arbitrary dates and expecting some sort of emotional reaction based on those arbitrary dates, then I’m not the one for you.
Today, the 22nd May, is my father’s birthday. The first I found out about it was when my ex-wife called him to congratulate him. He didn’t care that I forgot and neither did I, because we’re grown-ups.