My Best Birthday ever!

 My Best Birthday Ever!

To be honest, I don’t really remember my best birthday at all. I was just a little kid, after all—it was my first birthday! But I can imagine how I must have felt, and I am quite sure it was my best birthday ever because I was the baby, I got lots of attention, and the cake was amazing.

 My family was four people—Mom, Daddy, my brother John, and me. John was seven years older than I, so I was a double baby—the younger, and so much younger that there was no question who was the real baby. My brother was in school, involved in sports, and already beginning to define his own life. But I was not expected to do much of anything—just eat, sleep, and play with my toys. I liked to get into my brother’s things, and I remember playing with his red-and-blue blocks, his plastic cowboy and Indian figures, and his brown Lincoln Logs. But I never got into trouble because I was the baby.

On my first birthday, as you can see, I was surely the baby. I was in a high chair, dressed up in a pretty pastel dress like a baby doll, and in charge of the big white cake my mother had made (obviously, I was not expected to share it). My shiny blond baby hair is tied up so the breeze can’t mess it up. No one is with me in the picture, meaning I didn’t have to be polite to guests or make any effort to be anything other than what I was—the baby. Being the baby means that my birthday was done “my way,” so it was a great day.

 I know this was the best birthday because I was the center of attention. My family members had very different interests and activities, so as I grew up, I learned to keep myself occupied. Naturally, John would not play with me as he was busy with his friends, football, baseball, basketball, and school. My parents both worked shift work, often in the evening or at night, so they were either not at home or asleep. I was quiet and found ways to get things done on my own from an early age. I still have these traits of independence and self-reliance, along with ingenuity. Rarely was I the center of attention, so when I was, I was thrilled.

On this special day, my best birthday ever, I was indeed the center of attention. The camera was on me and no one else. The neighbors could see me, in the sunny front yard with my fancy clothes and cake, adding to the attention from the person taking the photo—probably Daddy, as he was the official family photographer. I may not have known what a birthday was, but I knew that something special was happening. It’s not every day your parents bring your wooden high chair out in the yard, put you in a frilly dress, and deposit a big cake right in front of you. That’s what I call plenty of attention.

And the cake—that’s another reason the day was the best. Our family rarely ate cake; we usually had no dessert, and cake was strictly for special occasions. This cake looks good, with its fluffy frosting and single wax candle. It must have smelled sweet as the sun warmed it up. I wonder what happened after the photo was made. Did my mother grab the cake before I could topple it to the ground? It’s leaning and looks a bit precarious. Or did she allow me to use my baby hands and dig in? That would have been out-of-character for Mom, who was a neat and tidy person. I cannot say, but I do know that the cake was big, it was sweet-smelling, and it was for me.

All in all, this was surely my best birthday ever. It was the first one, so I had no outlandish expectations and couldn’t be disappointed. The birthday was out of the ordinary in every way—outside, with a cake and a pretty dress, all on my own in a photo. Although my face looks a bit squinched-up, that’s just from the sun in my eyes. Every outdoor picture of me in my entire life has that squinty look. I was happy, I know, as this moment was all about me, the baby, getting all the attention, and (as a bonus) a delicious cake.

Note: I love reading memoirs and have asked my students wto write them over the years. I wrote this memoir for them as an example. I hope you have enjoyed reading it and are inspired to create your own memoir about a moment in time. It can be an essay, a video, a song, a painting, a recipe, a poem, a sketch, a wood carving, or a knitted item--whatever expresses your emotions and the impact of that particular moment.