Birthday words from 1,000 miles away

Today is my mother's birthday, and as I remembered this fact too late, there will be no timely card or present arriving from me at her Colorado home.

It will be the same as just about every year, when I inevitably end up doing nothing more than calling her that day, hoping for a chance to buy her something she wants during an in-person visit.

I did take the considerate step of sending nagging e-mails to my sisters because my mother is staying at one of their houses this weekend, reminding them about the birthday. This way, they can do something nice and I will feel like I had a part in the celebration, despite my own birthday slacker ways.

I wish I could blame my mother for being a poor role model, but she sends timely cards and presents for birthdays to her four children and 12 grandchildren, though she does skip the holidays that used to be exempt from parent-child gift exchanges but have succumbed to marketing madness (Valentine's Day, Easter, Arbor Day).

As children, my siblings and I never had the kind of insanely complicated celebrations that I hear rumors about - no pony rides, no clowns, no blowup bouncy castles, no gift bags full of candy and plastic toys for the guests, no homemade cakes shaped like our favorite superhero. (She preferred day-old generic cakes from the local grocery store bakery. Maybe there's a good reason I have birthday-memory syndrome.)

And she was brought up a preacher's daughter with three siblings in a family headed by a poorly compensated Wesleyan preacher, so I doubt her childhood birthday celebrations were anything more than a bit of singing, a gathering of a few relatives and a cake. (I'm sure they were homemade - not that I'm bitter).

I remember three of my own youthful birthdays:

Around age 8, I have a photograph of a group of friends and myself wearing paper headbands with feathers stuck in them, Indian style. I have a strong recollection of the awkwardness of trying to work my best friend from next door, who went to Catholic school, into the mix with my public school friends. There was no Protestant-Catholic divide, just more of a lone St. Peter and Paul girl feeling left out of the Stevens Elementary loop.

Then a few years later, I had a slumber party.

The big activity of the night was watching the annual airing of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on television. I later turned into a very grouchy, unpleasant and whiny hostess because I was tired and wanted to go to sleep while my friends were of a mind to stay up all night. (Funny how you don't lose some childhood traits.)

The other one was a junior high roller-skating party, where I took the friends - with whom I already spent almost every weekend at Skate City - to Skate City. It was the place to meet boys, though the only place we saw these boys after falling madly in love with them during couple's skate (during which it was highly advantageous to be able to skate backward) was at Skate City.

As I have memories of only three childhood birthdays, this must mean most of my birthdays were forgettable, or maybe we lose so much of our childhood that those extravagant birthday bashes parents throw won't necessarily yield the happy childhood memory returns the parents are hoping for.

But no matter the extent of birthday plans, most children should become better grown-ups than me and remember to send their mothers birthday cards.

If not, hopefully they'll have their own little corner of a newspaper where they can make up for their inconsiderate ways and say "Happy Birthday, Mom."

Reporter Heidi Gaiser may be reached at 758-4431 or by e-mail at hgaiser@dailyinterlake.com