Jill's Journal: I’m reclaiming my golden birthday

I was born on Sept. 1, shall we say ... several decades ago.

As in 1963.

That means I turn 63 this year, and I’ve decided something that may or may not be recognized by Hallmark, the Guinness Book of World Records or anyone else with official birthday authority.

I’m reclaiming my golden birthday.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: “Jill, you already had your golden birthday.”

Technically, yes.

But therein lies the problem.

I was just 365 days old at the time. I surely had no clue that I was having my golden birthday because I was busy taking care of business in a diaper – a cloth diaper in fact – trying to master this whole walking thing and getting way too excited whenever someone flew a spoonful of Gerber strained peas toward me while making airplane sounds.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly in a position to appreciate the significance of such a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

I’m sure my parents celebrated. There was probably a little cake, a single candle and a room full of relatives gathered around to see whether the Meier kid would smash frosting all over her face. I, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware that I was oblivious to what many people consider one of the most memorable birthdays of their lives.

For those who don’t know, a golden birthday is when your age matches the day of the month you were born. Since I was born on the first, my golden birthday came and went before I could even pronounce the word  “birthday.”

Frankly, I feel cheated.

Had I been, say, born on the 30th, I’d have had decades to anticipate the big event. I could have planned a party, worn gold, accepted gifts without guilt and acted like royalty for a day.

Instead, my golden birthday happened while I was trying not to eat the wrapping paper.

Life can be cruel sometimes.

I recently read that people like birthdays because they mark time. They give us a chance to look back, think about what changed and step into another year with some kind of intention. A golden birthday adds another layer because the age and date match. It feels rare, even if the birthday itself arrives like any other year.

I think whoever invented golden birthdays overlooked an entire group of people: those of us born in the first several days of the month.

We got robbed.

So, this year, I’ve decided to right the wrong. I’m introducing what I hope catches on across America: The Birth-Year Golden Birthday. (Can you hear what I’m proposing, Hallmark?)

Forget matching your age to the day of the month. Match it to the year you were born.

And since I was born in 1963, turning 63 seems far more deserving of the title than turning 1.

After all, I’ll actually be able to remember this one.

I can enjoy the cake without wearing half of it.

And I don’t need anyone making airplane noises to convince me to eat my vegetables.

As for the candles, 63 is more of a fire hazard, so, perhaps a “6” and a “3” candle will do.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve joked whenever something unfortunate happens: “What’s next? Are they going to take away my birthday?” Well, in a way, they already did. The birthday industry handed my golden birthday to a 1-year-old who had no appreciation – or knowledge – for the honor.

This year, I’m simply taking it back.

So, this Sept. 1, if you hear someone wishing me a ‘Happy Golden Birthday,’ don’t be the person who says, “Actually ...”

Just smile, nod and let me have this one.

I’ve waited 62 years to celebrate the special birthday I was too young to remember.

Besides, if we can normalize celebrating Christmas in July and calling 10 p.m. “late,” I think we can all agree that a 63-year-old reclaiming her golden birthday should not be an act of Congress.

And if anyone disagrees? What are they going to do?

Take away my birthday?