Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes, it’s my birthday (“for reals”, as my little sister would say), and I’m so thrilled that my Hoydens and hoyden friends are here to share it with me. If there were a way to offer cupcakes through the internet, I would be sharing pink icing with you right now. Since there doesn’t seem to be (or, if there is, it’s a jealously guarded secret in a bunker in New Mexico somewhere), I’ll just have to share words instead and leave you to acquire the cupcakes on your own.

Out of curiosity, I did a little poking around on the historical origins of birthday celebrations. What I discovered was… that no one really knows. Oh, there are all sorts of theories, but it’s like my old Magic 8 ball used to say: “Hazy”. One argument is that birthday celebrations date back to ancient Greece and the candles on the birthday cake are somehow tangled up with worship of the goddess Artemis (who, frankly, from those old myths doesn’t seem the sort who would bring enough cupcakes to share with the class. Just sayin’).

The Romans ate honey cakes for birthdays, presumably for a sweet year, celebrating imperial birthdays as well as personal ones, although there are some who argue that birthday cake as such doesn’t really come into being until medieval Germany, where sweetened bread dough was made into the shape of the baby Jesus, eventually turning from religious celebration into children’s party. In England, rather as with Christmas puddings, coins and thimbles would be hidden in birthday cakes, forming a sort of domestic divination: if you got the coin, it mean money in your future (and possibly a broken tooth, but, hey, that’s the risk one takes).

In some cultures, the real celebration is the name day or the saint’s day rather than the birthday. (Although, as I understand it, cake and presents are still involved, which is really the crucial thing, isn’t it?) While I was doing my research for Ashford Park, my 1920s book, which is set partially in Kenya, I came across other groups who count age from the circumcision date, the universal rite of passage, rather than the individual birth date.

So, basically, it’s all a muddle. Birthday traditions tend to grow and proliferate in bizarre and specific ways. I went to a tiny all girls’ school where it was de rigeur for (a) the birthday girl to cut the first slice of cake, and then (b) to scream when she hit the bottom (I do this automatically, which tends to alarm those who didn’t grow up with that particular tradition), following which she must (c) chew the entire first slice without showing her teeth or else spend the rest of the party under the table.

Wait, you mean you don’t do this?

My little sister, who went to this school, also adamantly holds to these traditions. My brother, who went to a different school, thinks we’re nuts.

Do you have your own personal birthday traditions? What are they?

p.s. I'm having a birthday celebration over on my website today, so stop by for book give-aways and other fun!