by Jennifer Allen

Created on: June 15, 2008

The other day I realized that it was exactly on month to my birthday. It was weird, it wasn't until I found out the date, one month before my birthday, that I even remembered that my birthday was coming up at all. People have always given me grief for saying this, but I really don't care about my birthday. When I was a kid, I did care, but birthdays were still not always that fun for me. I have a summer birthday, so no one remembers it, and even if they did, their families were usually away on vacation when my birthday rolled around. Even though, I did look forward to birthdays back then, if only for the sheer pleasure of being one year older, and therefore one year closer to being an adult. The birthday I looked forward to the most was my thirteenth birthday. I thought it was going to be great. I was wrong. It was the worst birthday of my whole life.

My thirteenth birthday was the first birthday after my parents had gotten divorced. So I figured thirteen had to be better than twelve by a long shot.

The day started out wrong when my father realized that I intended all three of us to spend the day together, as a family. I wanted to go on a scenic train ride. My mother had made the reservations for three people.

My father said, "What am I supposed to do?"

My mother replied, "What do you mean? You're coming on the train with us. I made reservations for all of us."

"I thought I was going to be able to spend the day with her," he said in an annoying, whinny tone.

The really strange thing about that statement was not that my father was whining. No, it was that my father hadn't been around on my birthday since my fifth birthday.

"Dad," I said. "You are going to spend the day with me. But, it's my birthday, and I want to spend time with Mom, too."

Finally it was decided that dad would join us on the scenic train ride.

The train ride was actually not too bad. My father had fun in spite of himself. After the train ride was another story. My father asked me if I wanted to go to my grandmother's house. I do not like my grandmother, so of course, I said I didn't. Dad wouldn't hear it.

He said, "You're going and that's it."

I said, "Then what was the point in asking if I wanted to go or not?"

I was told not to be rude, and to pack an overnight bag.

My grandmother lives on an island that is only accessible by boat. So while I was packing my overnight bag, he kept telling me to hurry up because he was afraid we'd miss the boat. Personally, I was hoping we would miss the boat so that I

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