The Last Birthday
Last Wednesday was The Kid’s 12th birthday. The calendar works out such that it is also the same day of the week as I had to take the day off from the med school which I still teach at on Wednesdays. The Kid was born in the wee hours of the morning and I got back home at the time I would have to leave to get to school on time. A week later, I entered my classroom to find this on the white board.
Reflecting back to that day is not unique to this year, however this year’s birthday has unique features; mainly that this was the last I will spend with them.
Unlike in the U.S. where it is usually necessary to celebrate a birthday on the actual day, Japan is much more flexible. Usually, the weekend closest to the day is when the party is held, including after the actual date. This year, the grandparents couldn’t join us for a birthday dinner on the same day as the concert, so we held the birthday dinner last night.
Earlier I wrote a little on how The Kid ruined the Stomp concert we treated them to for their birthday. Trust me, it got much worse once we got home. They pushed things so far that for the third time in their life, they got spanked. The last thing I wanted to have to do on the day we celebrated their birthday. Despite this, in the end The Kid got what they wanted despite not meeting the requirements for it as mommy gave in again. She always does and the kid knows that as long as they keep escalating the problem, mommy will eventually give them what they want.
The Kid spoke to me little during the past week, though we did have a good Zoom with my parents Saturday morning. The week before we could not Zoom due to The Kid’s attitude. Being mad at me, they didn’t want to Zoom with my parents.
Every Sunday until the entrance exam, if they get to sit for it, The Kid will have a test and it is my task to take them to the various testing venues. Yesterday’s was also an hour distant from home but a new location for us. Before leaving and during the way there, The Kid was there usual terrible self. Recently I noticed they have perfected their actions towards me to have become their mother’s very own “Little Me”. On the way back after the test, The Kid was on their best behavior and it was enjoyable being with them.
As soon as we alighted from the train at our local station, the switch was flipped and attitude and animosity towards me returned. They chose to not walk home with me and followed some distance behind instead. The whole household gave me the silent treatment for the first couple of hours after returning and I began to wonder if I had been disinvited to The Kid’s birthday dinner. Haven’t the foggiest of clues what the silent treatment was all about. Eventually, the climate in the house thawed.
We let The Kid choose what they want to eat or where to go for their birthday dinner. Often, they choose pizza or curry rice or other dishes kids like but we do not have all that often. To my surprise, they chose a newly opened (early last year) French restaurant that we have been to a few times for special dinners.
Well behaved but a bit bouncier that they should be in such a restaurant, they said that it was because they were happy. The Kid sure looked happy. I was happy for them, in the moment, yet devastated to think how their next birthday will be as I will not be a part of it. Will they have already accepted the reality that I’ll never be coming home or will the night be tainted by them frequently checking the door in hopes of a surprise visit from daddy. Or, will they treat my absence as the best gift. The second of these possibilities will forever haunt me.
It sucks when we think of all the different ways those who love us may view us.
I had a run-in with one of my sister's kids about a year or two before my amputation.
He had moved my trunk (the red white and blue one as seen in "That 70's show" of sketchpads from the basement to a shed about a hundred feet away. The problems began when I questioned why he moved it without asking. This is one of those golden rule situations. I would never move something of theirs without asking.
He got irate with me...using excuses like "you never moved it the whole time it was there." It's true, there were a lot of things in that part of the basement that had not been moved.
He told me he would move it back (it is quite heavy) if I paid him $20.00 to do it. I asked him why I would do such a thing..he moved it for free from the basement to the shed because then he could turn that part of the basement into a man cave. So no incentive at all to move it back, save that it would help his middle aged, overweight, uncle. Soon after he yelled at me, due to a combination of being backed into a logical corner and doiing too much weed growing up (another thing I had objected to).
You, like me, can list all the things you have done for your kid. I, too, have a list of things that I did in the course of caring for my sister's son. At the same time I think that similar to "Love keeps no record of wrongs" neither should it "keep records of rights." At the same time, my "own" in all this is that I rarely if ever asked him to help me. My first rule is... try not to be a bother, and no one will bother with you."
I don't know what my sister's kids think of me now, anymore than I know what my brother's kids think of me. Maybe "poor one-legged fat, weird uncle Jim?" They may have pity for me. They may think not of me at all. I hope that they do not have any guilt over not visiting me, because I didn't like that manipulation growing up. At the same time, I had wished they would want to visit me.
I probably missed something big on a past article - my apologies Kitsune - but what is with your pronoun usage with the kid? I thought there was more than one, but apparently not.
I had my only son at fifty and can relate to many of your heart wrenching posts.
Keep your chin up.