The Unreadable List

Here’s my most controversial hot take: Birthdays are better than Christmas. Before I get a million angry messages, yes, I realize that Christmas is also someone’s birthday (Jimmy Buffett, born December 25th, 1946). But it’s not strictly a celebration of your birth, even if you happened to enter the world on the same day as some guy who can’t find his lost shaker of salt. Birthdays are better than Christmas because, on your birthday, only you get presents. Unlike Christmas, where everyone feels special, you’re a solo act. There’s no pressure to uphold some higher virtue or to elevate humanity in general. There’s no false moralizing about how it’s better to give than to receive or about how, even without any gifts, you still carve the roast beast. You can expect goods without the slightest feeling of guilt because the whole point is rampant consumerism. Not only do you not need to feel bad about your undisguised hedonism, but other people should feel bad if they fail to satisfy it. No one’s going to tap you on the shoulder to remind you about the real reason for the season since the reason is unrepentant self-indulgence. Happy birthday indeed.

My kids have fully embraced the idea that greed is good. My three oldest daughters have birthdays within a few weeks of each other, so we do an annual combined event for the whole lot. That triple birthday party is coming up. The kids want the world to know about it, and by the world, I mean friends and family members geographically close enough to feel pressured to buy gifts. If you’re not at least sending a card with money in it, they don’t particularly value your attention. While the triple birthday party is a little Christmas-like in that the girls have to share the attention three ways, this is one case where the sum of the whole is worth more than the parts. With individual parties, they’d draw smaller crowds, and each kid would receive fewer presents. The combined party draws more unique attendees because people are less likely to want to offend three kids at once. It’s triple the sense of obligation for triple the fun. It’s a good deal for my seven-year-old, Waffle, too, even though it’s not her day. Many guests feel bad that she’s left out and give her a gift, too. She also has a party in November just for her. She knew what she was doing when she chose to be born on the other half of the year all by herself. Clever girl.

Photo by Hamid Roshaan on Unsplash

I’ve written countless words over the years about how much work Lola and I put into getting our house ready for the triple birthday party. It’s the one time we invite people in to judge us. The rest of the year, we keep the shades down and pretend we’re not home. But as much effort as that is, it’s not the most important preparation. That honor goes to writing wish lists. It’s a tradition that hearkens back to the days of old when kids would circle what they wanted in the toy section of the Sears catalog. I’d draw a line around pretty much the entire section. It’s like they say, aim for the stars; that way, even if you fall short, you’ll still have a raging, unsatisfied sense of entitlement to talk about in therapy. My kids don’t even know what catalogs are. That sales device is more or less extinct, just like the trees it was made from. That’s what we get for not listening to the Lorax. Not that my kids have been slowed down by the absence of five-pound blocks of junk mail. Betsy and Mae made their wish lists on Amazon. I have to admit that kills the magic a little. I know exactly what they want and—most unfortunately—how much it costs. Then again, I’m tempted to make the girls happy now before they get even more expensive. I could buy them every material good their hearts desire at their current ages or one book for college.

My eight-year-old, Lucy, however, made a truly old school list. It’s written with the earnestness and zeal of a kid who thinks their wish list should be as long as the Encyclopedia Britannica without being old enough to know what an encyclopedia is. Back in my day, the sum of all human knowledge wasn’t on some free website. It was sold door-to-door and weighed as much as a small bus. Lucy’s list is written with the handwriting of a grade schooler, which, while better than my own, is still largely illegible. Her creative spelling adds another level of difficulty. So does the fact that she’s writing about toys I’ve never heard of from YouTube channels completely unknown to people over the age of thirty five. Alan Turing would have a hard time decoding what she means. That just adds to the fun. Here’s my interpretation of Lucy’s list line by line. May she get everything she asked for. Just not from me because I’d like to be able to afford groceries this month.