Happy Birthday to Me!

I used to hate birthdays.

Mine, anyway.

Every August 25 felt less like a celebration and more like an annual notification that my shot clock was running out. Another year older. Another year closer to six feet under.

People would inevitably tell me, “It’s better than the alternative.” I hated that saying, too, mostly because they were right. Funny how getting older changes your perspective about getting older.

Today, I’m celebrating another birthday, and instead of lamenting the number, I’m trying to appreciate the fact that I get to have one. Because not everybody does.

I’ve been thinking about Tina Cox today.

Tina was a media colleague and one of those people who always seemed so alive. Vibrant is probably the best word. She had an energy about her that made it difficult to imagine a UK sporting event without her in it.

I remember distinctly that the last time I spoke with Tina, she asked me about Bingo.

She always asked me about my dog.

She could have asked about my writing, Kentucky basketball, my family, or any of the supposedly important things going on in my life. Instead, sooner or later, I’d get, “How’s Bingo?”

I loved that about her.

I’m not sure why that particular memory has stuck with me so strongly since she passed. Maybe because it was such a small thing, and I’m learning that small things aren’t always small.

Neither are birthdays. Tina doesn’t get another one. I do.

That realization will sober you up pretty quickly when you’re tempted to complain about getting old.

So I’m trying to savor today, and many of you have made that easy. I’ve heard from people I see all the time, people I haven’t seen in years, and people I’ve never met in person. I’ve gotten texts, calls, Facebook posts, and messages from people whose names brought back memories from completely different chapters of my life.

Some of you wrote a sentence. Some wrote several paragraphs. Some apparently decided a Facebook-generated “Happy Birthday!” was sufficient effort for another year.

I’ll take it.

Every single one meant something to me. Dan Mackey even bought me lunch. Thank you.

But here’s the strange thing about birthdays. You can hear from a hundred people and still notice the one person you didn’t hear from.

Kanisa didn’t wish me a happy birthday today.

There. I said it.

And it hurts more than I care to admit.

I’m not angry with her. I understand why things are the way they are, probably better than most people could. But I’ve also learned that understanding something intellectually doesn’t make it hurt any less emotionally.

I would trade a whole bunch of Facebook greetings for one “Happy birthday” from my wife.

Maybe that sounds ungrateful. It’s not. It’s just true.

So if there’s anything this birthday has taught me, it’s something I never would have considered years ago when birthdays were mostly about cake, presents and complaining about getting older:

Don’t ever take for granted hearing a “Happy birthday” from the person you love.

Don’t take for granted the card on the kitchen counter, the kiss in the morning, the dinner you didn’t particularly want to go to, or the lousy present they bought even though they should know you better by now.

And don’t dismiss those two simple words just because you’ve heard them every year for the last 30 or 40 years.

There may come a birthday when you’d give almost anything to hear them again.

I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who remembered me today. I’m saddened by the one person who didn’t.

But I’m also here.

Another August 25.

Another birthday I once might have dreaded.

This time, I’ll take it (along with any gift cards, free lunches, or book purchases).

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a columnist for Nolan Group Media and invites readers to follow him on social media @KYHuangs. His latest book is Whining for Posterity, available on Amazon.