Feeling Celebrated

Why celebrating each other matters

When I was a kid, I had a birthday party—you know, one with kids, cake, and chaos—every five years. Home video from the 5^th birthday party shows kids arriving bearing gifts and then trying their luck pinning the tail on the donkey. I don’t know if they had fun, but I know I did.

My 10^th birthday party was a pool party at a local motel where we knew the owners. I still remember receiving a pink case filled with hair rollers and a Mr. Potato Head. I loved it (well, not the hair rollers so much!)!

For my 15^th birthday, I left the chaos behind and opted for a quiet gathering at the home of one of my friends. I think that at that party we celebrated—perhaps a little too much—with beverages we concocted from their parents’ liquor cabinet.

In all three cases, I worried about whether anyone would show up, but they always did, and, once they arrived, I was able to relax into the celebration.

My late partner Anne shared with me one of her most painful childhood memories—a birthday party where no one came. Apparently, kids—or more likely their parents—in a wealthy Chicago suburb didn’t like the fact that a middle-class, liberal minister and his family had infiltrated their closed community. They responded by boycotting their child’s birthday party. The devastation Anne felt never left her even years after suffering this embarrassment and disappointment.

In today’s world, kids seem to have birthday parties every year. Places such as Skyzone, Dave & Busters, and a myriad other restaurants and entertainment venues have made kids’ birthdays big business. These parties always feel a little forced to me—like if the birthday kid doesn’t jump and run around screaming and hollering, it’s not a real birthday. At the same time, maybe these annual events offer a little recognition in a world that can sometimes forget to tell kids how loved they are.

I like that I had to wait for a big celebration every few years, though, rather than expecting one every year. It made each one feel more special—like turning 5 or 10 or 15 really meant something, rather than feeling like I was owed something just for making it through another year.

Even in the off years though, we still had Marquis Chocolate Cake, a rich three-layer chocolate-on-chocolate delicacy made famous at my dad’s restaurant, the Marquis Toll House. My mom made it every year and never failed to let me lick the beaters. Twice! For the batter and the frosting! That’s the thing I most looked forward to every year! I still dream about it, but it’s been years since I tackled the recipe (if you’re interested in trying it yourself, email me, and I’ll be glad to send you the recipe).

My wife Wendy and I moved into the house we live in now in December of 2019—three months before the pandemic shut everything down. We talked several times about hosting an outdoor party in our new yard, but, even after the pandemic ebbed, we weren’t invested enough in it to make it happen. Or maybe we just needed a reason.

Well, this year we found a reason. And, no, it wasn’t for my birthday. Even though I had my 70^th birthday on May 5^th, I didn’t feel driven to make a big deal of it. A quiet dinner at home was enough for me. That’s because I knew that in a few short weeks I’d have an even bigger reason to celebrate. My retirement! Now that is something I really wanted to celebrate!

I’ve known a lot of people who slip into retirement quietly—without a lot of fanfare. I respect that choice, but it wasn’t mine. Even though I’d cut back to part-time work ten years ago, after fifty years of working for someone else at something, retirement still felt hard-earned.

I’d been counting the days for over a year, and I knew that when the time finally came, I would want to celebrate it. My question was, “Would anyone else?” Just like with those early birthday parties, my anxiety rose about whether anyone would come.

Anne’s story, augmented by my own unresolved abandonment issues, convinced me that my retirement party would inevitably flop. I knew my dear friend, JMJ, from Brooklyn would be there. I knew my brother and his wife were coming from Maryland. And I knew Wendy’s folks, who live nearby, would come. After that, I had no idea.

It didn’t help that when I sent out email invitations, I didn’t ask for an RSVP. I told myself that didn’t want people to feel obligated one way or the other, but it was really just a way to avoid the anxiety that would arise when no one responded—as I was sure would happen. Without RSVPs, I could hold out hope that someone would show up—on a whim at least.

Of course, my worry was for naught. Almost sixty people—church members, neighbors, family members, colleagues, and friends—eventually showed up to celebrate with me on what turned out to be a beautiful 70-degrees-and-sunshine Virginia spring day.

A few played corn-hole or toured my gardens, but mostly people just talked—sometimes with people they knew, other times with strangers. It was wonderful to see my worlds collide in this way. I gave away buttons Wendy made based on the sign I carried at the first protest march I attended in 2025, and I loved seeing who scarfed them up. Liberals and conservatives alike seemed to appreciate the message.

Pin made from the protest sign I designed for the march I attended in February.

And together we devoured an entire half-sheet cake without a moment’s hesitation.

As the day wrapped up, I couldn’t help but feel celebrated, honored, and loved.

I asked people who attended to write notes to me with their advice and good wishes. Those, plus the almost twenty happy retirement cards I received, will help me stay focused on what’s important in this next chapter—stay true to myself, do what I’m called to do, and say “yes” only to things that I want in my life. Two weeks into retirement that feels pretty good so far!

Some of the happy retirement cards I received in the past month.

This experience has taught me, or maybe reminded me, why it’s so important to celebrate each other. I so appreciated each and every card I received that I’ve made a commitment to myself that I will send more cards the old fashioned way—through the United States Postal Service. To that end, I just mailed hand-written thank-you cards to people who, even though I said no gifts, attended the party with gifts in hand.

I also sent over 30 thank-you cards to people who donated in my honor to the organization I retired from, the Living Legacy Project (there’s still time if you want to receive a personal thank-you card, too!!). Their gifts—some large and some small—meant a lot to me. They told me that they saw me and wanted to honor what was important to me. Who can ask for more recognition than that?

Celebrating each other matters. Especially in these times when everything seems to be upside-down and inside-out, I believe that we can bridge our differences by stepping up our random acts of kindness. It makes a difference when others feel seen—just as it makes a difference to us when you and I feel seen.

As I write this, I’m reminded of the greeting from Zulu culture, Sawubona, which translates to “we (my ancestors and I) see you.” We all need to be seen, acknowledged, and loved.

One of the common responses to Sawubona is Sikhona, which means, “I am here to be seen.” Dr Tracy Brown interprets this to mean, “I commit to showing up as my authentic self…to be fully present as I share myself with you.”

Imagine what a gift that would be if all of us committed to seeing each other and being seen by each other?

That’s how I felt at my retirement party.

As we traverse the difficult terrain we find ourselves in, I encourage you to consider celebrating those who are close to you and, while you’re at it, invite others to celebrate you, too. Whether that’s a once in a lifetime celebration like a retirement, or an annual birthday or anniversary, find ways to genuinely celebrate each other.

I’m convinced we will all be better for it.

In hope and love,

Annette

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