When I was growing up, birthdays were not so much celebrated as endured, tolerated, or politely ignored

When I was growing up, birthdays were not so much celebrated as endured, tolerated, or, better yet, politely ignored.

My parents stopped observing their birthdays at some point prior to my arrival.

I long ago outgrew the urge to treat each passing birthday as yet another invitation to rollicking merriment.

To deny a birthday is to live in a void—untethered from the past, cut from the future.

I would like to think that my parents were more aware of their own ages than they let on. For example, I am certain that they still exchanged birthday cards among themselves for some years after my brother and I were born, a far more restrained display than expecting gifts or baked goods from their children or each other. I come not to suspend the practice of adults commemorating their birthdays but to urge such commemoration to take on a more dignified and solemn character..