Happy Birthday to My Dad

This Sunday I’d like to wish my Dad a Happy Birthday! He would be 111 years old (he made it to almost 99, so he hasn’t been gone too long!) I thought I’d share with you the story he wrote as he reflected on his childhood in his later years. It certainly explained why over the years he didn’t want us to make a big fuss over his birthday. Enjoy the story with me!

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BIRTHDAYS

My birthday was never celebrated. My Dad gave me a rational explanation in 1917 when I was four years old but the idea never reached me through the fog of psychological and theological mystery involved with the arrival of a baby sister Ruth in October. Sister June joined the family in the month of June when I was six and sister Lois, again in October, just before I was nine. It seemed clear to me and surely evident to Dad that birth events delivered girls to our family.

Dad and I were both born too close to the birthday of baby Jesus. Jesus was a boy but it was clear to me that his birth was one of a kind and not to be generally expected. Dad’s birthday was December 26 and mine was December 22. Probably our birthdays got lost in all the fuss about the baby Jesus celebration. The only firm conclusion I seemed able to make was that birthday celebrations were girl-things and that boys like Dad and me were out of the loop.

In successive years that conclusion was confirmed in practice. At supper on the 22^nd mother would suddenly announce that the day was important in her life. After some moments while we all kept on eating and mother mused, she would say to her daughters: “Oh yes, now I remember. December 22 was the date Paul was born.”

Then Dad, also speaking to the girls, would continue: “Santa always helps with Paul’s birthday present. In fact, I think I saw his name on a package under the tree. Should Paul get it now so we can all see?”

All the little sisters would of course squeal “yes.” I would go into the cold, unheated parlor where the Christmas tree was always placed, choose a package with my name on it and come back to the supper table to open it. Usually, it was something I knew I was going to get because for weeks I had watched Mother making it in her spare time. Then the little sisters would plead for a chance to also get packages, but Dad would insist they must wait until the day after the day after tomorrow to see what Santa had brought for them. There was always some whining, but on balance the scheme worked.

Right after sister number 3 arrived, Dad and I seemed to recognize a mutual awareness. “Birthdays are for girls.” In our mature years that assumption has served well for both of us by freeing us from tedious secretarial tasks and the cost of mailing commercially produced, generic messages to friends and relatives.

Did I have a birthday, or did I have a diluted Christmas? When I wondered about it, Dad helped me see that his situation was even worse than mine. By the 26^th there was never anything left under the Christmas tree. Dads’ birthday party always had a special name…“clean up time.” Paul W. Bixby

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We made sure to celebrate his birthday with as many kids and grandkids as we could. Luca helped him blow out the candles at his 95th party.

My Dad with his siblings. He was proud to be a big brother to them all!

So Happy Birthday Dad! We miss you so much!