Just once, I would have enjoyed being the boy who was cheered with, “Happy Birthday!”
IFyou read this on Rosh Chodesh Av, then you also read this on my birthday.
It’s not easy having your birthday at the beginning of the Nine Days. My birthday always fell smack in the middle of the summer, so I never had a birthday party in school. That may not sound like the greatest childhood trauma, and it’s not. However, since kindergarten and through elementary school and even high school, I would look on with envy as each birthday boy was publicly celebrated.
When I was in the lower grades, I wondered what it would be like to wear the crown the rebbi made for the birthday boy. The boy was always beaming with pride and joy. When it was time for him to distribute the pekelach, I could only imagine what it would feel like, just once, to be popular and the center of everyone’s attention.
Being portly and round and a redhead, I was more often the target of ridicule than the focus of friendship. Only two percent of the human population has red hair, and being a plump little carrot-top does not a popular child make. And although gingerphobia is not considered a hate crime, it’s not fun being called gingi all the time. Plus, I didn’t enjoy random people coming over and mussing my hair while saying, “You have such beautiful hair. Too bad it’s wasted on you.”
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