I am glad to be 61 years old on 14 September. Thanks to all who offered birthday wishes.

As a rule, I don’t talk about my birthday, plan anything special, or welcome anyone else planning something special.

I did not know I had issues about my birthday until 1982 when my then fiancé organized a surprise party for me on my new job as a Chaplain Resident at the University of Mississippi Medical Center. She let everyone in the Pastoral Care Department know in advance and was waiting in the cafeteria with birthday cake and plates when we showed up to drink coffee mid-morning.

While everyone was getting their cake, she whispered in my ear, “I hope you’re not upset I did this.” I whispered back, “This is fun. Thank you.” I enjoyed the party but have never forgotten her concern about my reaction. She recognized I had issues before I did.

I often feel socially awkward at parties where I am an ordinary guest, but thinking back over the years, I have enjoyed the few parties held in my honor. I like being the center of attention.

I was a psychotherapist for 15 years and spent many of those years in therapy myself. Even so, I did not realize that my mother was clinically depressed when I was growing up. That changed within the past few years. I don’t recall exactly when, but it may have been after she died in 2015.

The child of a depressed mother does not enjoy being the center of attention very much because depressed people don’t have the abundance of resources that are necessary to pay good attention to others.

Being forgotten is a deep fear of mine. A neighbor invited me to accompany his family and a few others to a party once when I was 15 years old. I showed up freshly showered and dressed at the appointed time and found they had forgotten me and left early to go to the party. I was crushed.

Being forgotten by neighbors and going unnoticed by my depressed mother is what I grew up expecting. No wonder I don’t want anyone to plan a birthday party for me. Deep down inside, I expect the people I most want to come won’t. They won’t show up physically and if they show up physically, they won’t show up emotionally.

It is not my fault, but it is my responsibility that I have managed to create part of the reality I fear.

Not all my old childhood fears have become real. My Facebook friends wished me a happy birthday. Some of my family texted me good wishes. And my wife made me go out to eat at a nice restaurant on top of agreeing to let me buy myself a big present that was conveniently on sale just before my birthday.

I may never fully escape the influence of the first 15 years of my life, but maybe I can draw upon the good of the past 15 years more than I have and let them have a greater influence on what I expect deep down inside.

And now you know the rest of the story.