Today is my birthday

It's a sentimental one today, folks

Today is my birthday. And I am trying not to make a big deal about it, but I am here writing about it on my Substack so I suppose maybe it is. A big deal to me, at least. Last week, in celebration, I went to visit my parents at their respective houses in Stockport. 2 days with Dad, 2 days with Mum.

The trains to Manchester tilt for reasons I have never been sure of (speed, perhaps?) and this often makes me feel nauseous. But the rhythm and the rocking and the knowledge that someone is picking me up in a familiar car on the other side is usually enough to send me straight to sleep.

This time I hadn’t brought enough water, so the experience was hampered somewhat. But still, a nice time was had. And the nice time spread out to the rest of the week; Lounging on comfortable chairs in my Dad’s garden, watching a film while he snored on the sofa, going to mine and my Mum’s old favourite retail park and teaching her about Hylauranic Acid in a  particularly well-stocked Boots. 

Like most of us, I went through the typical childhood transition of deciding that my parents were simply the worst people in the world. I remember screaming at my Mum to walk 3 steps ahead of me lest anyone see us together. What would they think?! If anyone dared tell us that we had similar eyes or mouths I would take it as a grave insult, listing all of the reasons why we weren’t similar, not at all, not one bit. 

I’m not sure when it happened, but recently, my perception of my parents as people has changed. Maybe I am becoming more aware of the diminishing time we have left together, or maybe my frontal lobe is finally fully formed. But largely, I enjoy their company. 

I love sitting in their gardens, well-tended to since their retirements, and eating whatever tasty morsels they’ve served up. I love getting into my childhood bed and smelling freshly laundered sheets - a real hallmark of care. I love chatting about worldly things, and stupid things, and sharing my NYT Quiz scores so they can tell me what a Clever Girl I am. 

Growing up we were not an emotional family. Actually, that’s not exactly true. We were emotional, had blazing rows and belly laughs and enough family lore to write a book about. But we weren’t vocal about it. I can count on my hands the number of times my Mum and I have exchanged ‘I love you’. I can’t imagine ever feeling comfortable enough to say it to my Dad. 

But with my new glasses that I acquired from 2 people called Perspective and Hindsight (pardon the pun), I can see we never really needed to say it out loud. Not to get too Love Actually about it but the love really was, all around. Even in the hard bits - and god there were hard bits! Perhaps on a gloomier day, I will write about them too. 

But today I am feeling grateful. Grateful enough to sit at my laptop with my lovely rose-tinted glow and write something kind. For Gary and Fiona. For making it all possible. Thanks for sticking with me for the last 31 years.*

*It’s actually 32 years if you count my first year of life - which I do - but I’ve already got my age wrong once on this Substack so didn’t want to cause any further confusion.