Pero, a Chocolate Biscuit, and a Birthday

What’s cosier than a warm laptop, a mug of pero, pyjamas, and the aforesaid choccie biccie, with a little Missy Higgins on the playlist? This is how I’m ending my Saturday.

Today was my dad’s birthday. Wasn’t sure if I’d feel something extra or different today, but I really didn’t. I think probably because birthdays aren’t a huge deal in our family. We remember them--if you forget it’s a no-no, but we’re not too princessy about them. Gifts are sometimes optional. In fact, one of my fond memories of my dad is related to that. I’d always get a call on my birthday--usually on the answering machine, because of the time difference. I got home one year and hit play, and as expected, there was a message from my dad. I got to the end and thought “wait a second.” I played it again, and sure enough, there wasn’t a “happy birthday” within earshot.

I called him the next day to berate him for forgetting, and to ask where my present was (we rarely got the hang of mailing things early enough internationally, so “it’s in the post” became a bit of a joke). But honestly (and I told him this), I kind of liked that he called me mid-week without being consciously obligated. It’s like the men who send roses when it isn’t Valentine’s day (not that I know any personally, but I’ve heard legends)--it’s a little more meaningful when Hallmark hasn’t guilted you into it.

So I don’t know that I’m obligated to do something “special” today. I couldn’t visit my dad’s grave, for obvious reasons. I thought about going up into the mountains and beginning some kind of tradition, but in the end it felt like it would be just manufactured. I think about my dad a lot--right now I don’t need a ritual. I sort of doubt they celebrate birthdays in the next life, anyway, but I’ll assume that if they do, my dad knows I’m thinking of him. Or even if not.