I Hate Birthdays

13 Sep

I hate birthdays.  It’s not because I’m getting older.  I can’t ever recall particularly caring for them.  Nothing about the day excites me. Memories associated with that day just aren’t outstanding.

Perhaps I hate birthdays because for 57 years on my birthday, my father said, “Today was Kasarek’s sale.  I couldn’t go because you were born.  They sold that 150 acres, and the buyer got the wheat crop that had already been planted.  The wheat crop paid for that 150 acres.” He never said that I was responsible for him not buying this neighbor’s land, but the message was clear.


I confronted my father two months before he died.  I was simply tired of hearing about the Kasarek sale and how he could have acquired another 150 acres for free.  He said, “That’s just how I remember your birthday.”

Well, I finally looked it up.  Father, you lied.  According to the county land records, the land was sold before my birthday.  It was too early to plant wheat; therefore, the new owner planted wheat after my birthday.  A sale did occur on the Kasarek’s property on my birthday.  Household goods and farm equipment went under the gavel.  You could have attended.  I arrived at 8:12 a.m. You had sufficient time to get to the sale if you really wanted to be there.

My father has been dead for nearly twenty years. I still hear him tell about Kasarek’s sale every year. I still hate birthdays.


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