It has come to my attention that September 25th is National Daughters Day. My take on this “holiday” has nothing to do with the fact that I am the mother of daughters, but instead has to do with the fact that I am the daughter of a mother, something half the population can identify with. And for male readers, stay tuned, I’ll get to you in paragraph three.
I choose to celebrate this event even though my daughter-ness is done. My folks died long ago. For me, a gal lucky enough to have had terrific parents, this is a good time to remember those loved ones who conferred daughterhood on me and to honor the relationship. For those who were not as lucky, remember how hard you tried in that difficult situation and celebrate that fact instead.
And guys? You are ever so fortunate. There are two National Sons days, on March 4th and on September 28th. So, yay you!
Instead of questioning this inequity — two celebrations a year for sons — let’s just invent other reasons to celebrate. I’m good at this. When I was a teenager, I told my mom that it was my 200-month birthday and that she needed to give me a gift. And so she did! She gave me a pink hairnet from the dime store. I was thrilled!
This joy in odd celebrations now plays out in the fact that in our family, halfway birthdays are acknowledged, and come with a cake and a small gift.
As I age, and recognize more names in the obituaries, I see the wisdom in such celebrations.
Paul Auster is my favorite author. He died on April 30, 2024 at the age of 77. I thought to myself at the time that his death was the beginning of a new stage in my life. I wondered if I should start a list and add to it when I invariably lost others in months to come. But I didn’t do that. And I’m glad because there really have been a lot of people — famous folks and friends — who have died in recent months. Who needs such a graphic reminder?
The bottom line for me is: The sad stuff is a given; I want to make a point of noting the glad stuff too.
As I contemplate the how-tos of such celebrations, I know large to-dos are not necessary. My celebration can be pink-hairnet-like:
Watch a favorite old movie
Try a new restaurant
Check out that independent bookstore mentioned in the newspaper
Eat a favorite treat
Actually, the eating of a treat is the celebration of choice for me. I am so tough on myself regarding my pre-diabetes diet, that a cheat day every now and again is sanctioned by the nutritionist who guides me. (I can hear her now — just take a short walk and drink extra water after the indulgence.)
And so, I start salivating over the thought of my favorite three P’s: pizza, pasta and pastry.
And then I realize that before National Daughters Day in September, my halfway birthday is coming up in August.
And I do the math. On August 12th, I will be 882 months old!
And I think…maybe I should celebrate myself on every 12th of the month until I reach 888?
And I laugh at the stupidity of this idea…and the genius.
Such celebrations express gratitude for life. They are an excuse to celebrate myself for my very existence, no qualifications required. And of course, they are a reminder that it is a privilege to add another month to my age.
As a throwback to when I was 444-months-old and when I could eat junk food with abandon, a big pig-out for me would be a bag of Cheetos and a Coke or a bag of spearmint leaves candies. As the years passed, I would not allow myself such empty calories, but my kids would buy all three goodies for me in the aftermath of any scary hospitalization I endured.
Clearly, favorite treats are a great way to celebrate special occasions. But not just in celebration of still being alive after a health scare. Let’s add Daughters Day and Sons Day too. And in my case, the reaching of 882 — today! Yay!
Here is your handy dandy months-to-years converter in case you want to celebrate too.
111 is 9.25
200 is 16.67
222 is 18.5
333 is 27.75
444 is 37
555 is 46.25
666 is 55.50
777 is 64.75
888 is 74
999 is 83.25
1000 is 83.33
