Family Love

My Annual Birthday Poem: A Terribly Self-Indulgent, Truly Narcissistic Post

Today is my birthday. I’m um… a year older than I was last year. 😉

Every year, for as long as I can remember, my parents have sent me a birthday card. Generally, my card arrives about two weeks early. This year’s card arrived on November 11th, so they are getting closer.

Inside the card, my mom always tells me that I am beautiful, that she remembers my birth as if it were yesterday, (I’ll bet she does), and she wishes me happiness, good health and good luck.

My father always writes me a poem. Well, technically, they are written an anonymous poet, whose handwriting just so happens to look exactly like my father’s script. Since nobody writes anymore, I have come to cherish these little ditties that my father (I mean, “anonymous”) pens for me.

This year’s poem reads:

There once was a girl named Schuls
Who didn’t care much for jewels
Her greatest wish
Was for people to be good in English
And follow the grammar rules.

And it’s true: I don’t care much for diamonds or pearls or rubies or emeralds or gold. And I do wish everyone would walk around with his or her grammar style-book at all times (just in case of an “affect/effect” emergency). But my greatest wish is that my parents stick around for a really long time – at least another hundred years – and that they keep sending me their fabulously goofy cards once a year. At least two weeks early. Their continued wackiness makes getting older a little easier.

Do you have a favorite birthday ritual?

15 thoughts on “My Annual Birthday Poem: A Terribly Self-Indulgent, Truly Narcissistic Post

  1. Love those three hand- made cards from the grandchildren. And my son. He NEVER forgets my birthday. Every mid September or so he sends a card. Only problem is my birthday is June 18th.

  2. The poem and card is terrific. My mom calls every year on my birthday morning and sings “Happy Birthday” in this crazy, high-pitched, opera-like voice. I simultaneously roll my eyes and smile; I’d be crushed if I didn’t get that call.

    Happy birthday, Renee.

  3. Having a birthday in mid-December, my family always waits until after my birthday to put up our tree. Sure, it’s not a true birthday ritual, but with all the Christmas crap coming earlier and earlier (Honestly Wal*Mart, does Christmas stuff need to start being stocked on shelves in August?) it does help that some people are willing to forgo celebrations in favor of my birthday.

  4. That’s sweet. You should collect all of the poems into a book and present it to your Dad, um I mean the anonymous poet for Father’s Day next year.

    My Birthday tradition started several years ago when my wife asked what kind of cake I wanted. I didn’t have anything in mind so I never really gave her an answer. She was persistent and to mess with her I started describing in vivid detail what I wanted. A cake in the shape of a frog, sitting on a lily pad with a dead fly on its tongue…damned if I didn’t get JUST that. Now every year on my birthday and the kids’ we challenge her with something difficult. Past cakes have included the Taj Mahal, an F-16, Optimus Prime, a tent, a monster truck, numerous race cars. None would make Duff retire, but they are all made with lots of Love.

  5. The poem is really sweet. My birthday ritual used to consist of not letting anyone know and enjoying the secret that I alone knew. Then I decided to advertise. Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOMAN!

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