I Have Mixed Feelings about January

I Have Mixed Feelings about January

I think most people like the month of January. It starts out with a perfect legitimate reason to get plastered, and from that point on, everyone can start out with a clean slate. People hold this image of New Years as being this magical day that gives everyone the ability to start things over because, after all, the calendar is starting over, so why can't they. I don't really buy into the whole New Years resolution concept since most people end up breaking their resolutions after about a week. But New Years aside, January has a certain uniqueness that separates it from all the months. A paradoxical battle rages in my head when it comes to how I feel about the month. On the one hand, it is my favorite month; on the other hand, it is my least-favorite month.

The reason it is my favorite month is because it was the month I was born in. I came into this world on the 11th of January, 1989. Although I never saw a time when jean jackets and scrunchies were popular, I was technically born in the 80’s.

As I was saying, I was born on January 11th. When I was younger, I often would be worried that my gifts from Chanukah would be melded into birthday gifts. Birthday gifts had to be distinct, separate gifts that I was entitled to, regardless of when Chanukah was. Why should the celebration of my birthday be tarnished because of a certain holiday that can't make up its mind if it wants to be at the beginning, middle, or end of December? So I would always look forward to this day honoring my entrance to the world..

I used to have these big elaborate parties when I was younger, usually accompanied by classmates, who I may or may not have been friends with. After all, when you're six, how many people do you really dislike? Through time, when society declares that a person is too old to have the traditional birthday party, it sort of evolved into a dinner with family and sometimes friends.

The gifts also changed with time. Initially, like most kids, I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, or parents' intuition took over and they had a good sense of what to buy me. Throughout the years, the whole element of surprise and excitement about the gifts dissipated. Parents would have less time to find that perfect gift that would light up their child's eyes. And let's not forget how hard it is to really make a teenager happy or even content. So, naturally the concept of a birthday gift evolved into a particular sum of money that would pretty much be consistent each year. Through this evolution, I slowly started feeling less excited about my birthday, knowing that it was just a day where I'd receive some nice money (which don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for), but it has lost some of its sentimentality.

I have trouble pinpointing which of my twenty birthdays stands out the most as being once I can call my favorite, mostly because I don’t remember half of them. But one stands out in my mind as being the most dear to me. This was my 17^th birthday. That January 11^th jumps out to me more than any other because it was the first and (I think last) surprise party that I was thrown. The day went on routinely like many birthdays, me telling every teacher that it was my birthday with the hope of getting some special excuse from not taking a test or going to class. The scheme never worked, and the day carried on. Once school ended my mother picked up me and my friend, B, from school, as was the norm. Instead of driving him home the normal route, my mother was driving in a different direction and she was speaking to B, in a manner that seemed pretty suspicious. When I asked what was up, B told me that they had called a few friends and we were going out to my favorite pizza restaurant. As we got into the restaurant and I sat there sitting with some of my closest friends, and I saw how much effort had been done on my account, I was touched with a sense of happiness that I know should encapsulate every birthday.

That birthday stands out most in my mind as being the happiest and saddest in the most bittersweet of ways, and explains why January is my favorite and least-favorite of months. You see, just a mere six days after that wonderful memory filled with elation and joy came a day that was filled with sorrow and mourning. On January 17^th, my mom died.

Now, as I look ahead every year in the calendar toward January 11^th, I think of how important birthdays are. Those of you that know me know I have this amazing ability to remember friends’ and relatives' birthdays (don't worry, everyone thinks it's weird). I try calling anyone whose phone numbers I have to wish them happy birthday. The reason I do that is because I know how important a birthday is to someone. It’s a day that belongs to the honoree and everything takes a backseat to him. I feel so passionately about birthdays that part of me still has the child inside of him that needs to stay up until midnight specifically to see the clock turn 12:00. I realize how special that birthday was, how special it was to have that great memory of my mother, and to cherish that memory that embodied her kindness.

When January rolls around, I feel the excitement of my approaching birthday, but a great portion of my heart still thinks of that last birthday I spent with my mom. A month that used to be reserved entirely for celebration now has to be shared with the opposite feeling of grief. But every January that comes, I try to think of the positive things that I can learn from my mother's selflessness and generosity, and incorporate her into my daily life.