... To wish me Happy Birthday. And you'll never know what that meant to me.
When you're born on Thanksgiving Day, your "Birthday" should come with a disclaimer. Where you might think people would think, "Oh. It's Thanksgiving. That means it's D'Lyn's birthday," they don't.
The vast majority of the world forgets your birthday.
Growing up, that wasn't the easiest thing to deal with. And in this post-Mom life I live, where I don't have Mom around to run interference for me, it's not always fun.
I remember the great lengths Mom would go to to make sure My Day was acknowledged. A cake, including my boyfriend of the hour in our holiday feast, making sure people were lined up to wish me Happy Birthday. But without her around, Biggsy has stepped up to the plate.
And oh, how he has stepped up. BUT I want to clarify for anyone out there. I'm NOT 40. YET.
What I've come to realize, though, is how very much I appreciate the people who do remember it's my birthday. The people who interrupt their regularly-scheduled holiday programming to help make my birthday a VERY BIG DEAL. The friends who brought me donuts and chai (just like I like it) to start my day off right. The sweet sister-in-law who made me a birthday cake just like I requested it. The relatives who called and sang -- sometimes off-key. The chick friends who sent me texts. The husband that didn't even blink when I wore my real, live tiara all day -- even to Thanksgiving lunch at the kin-folks.
And I have to say, a lot's been said lately about "Facebook Friends" not being "Real" friends. Whatever. I loved the notes they left me. That was pretty darn cool.
And I won't hold it against those of you who didn't step up to the plate. Or at least I'll try not to. I'm not perfect, you know.
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