41 Please Be Kind
By: Samantha Jean Tate
Dear 41,
Please be kind.
40 had its ups and downs
mostly downs.
Dear 41,
Please be gentle.
40 didn’t let me love myself out loud
as much as I should’ve.
Dear 41,
Please let me enjoy my company.
40 told me I was nothing without a somebody.
And you know what?
40 was wrong.
40 was harsh.
40 was cruel.
40 was the medicine I needed.
Dear 41,
I hope you are filled with laughter,
I hope you are filled with love-
from yourself and those around.
Dear 41,
I wish for a peaceful year.
A year of enjoying...
You.
My 40th birthday was the second worst birthday I ever had. The first worst birthday? September 12, 2001—the day after 9/11. I’d like to talk about my worst birthdays ever. We’ll start with September 12, 2001.
I was turning 17. The day before, we lived like it was going to be the end of the world. Two terrorists from Afghanistan hit the Twin Towers in New York. And then a couple of hours later, some terrorists tried hitting the Pentagon, but the plane crashed into a field in Virginia. I was in my second period, You & the Law class. This was an elective class I took, as part of me did kind of want to be a lawyer at some point. This class was just giving me a taste of what law school was like. Someone came into our classroom. I can’t remember if it was another teacher or the principal, and told my teacher to flip on ABC. And there we saw it — the second plane hit the towers, right on live TV.
I knew this was a terrorist attack right from the get-go. And I had a gut feeling it was Afghanistan or Iran that was behind it. Because those were the two countries that really detested us Americans at the time. When I found out it was Afghanistan, I was floored. But yet, I wasn’t surprised. School let us out early that day, but I still had to go to the Genesee County Area Skill Center for my Office Professionals class. I remember on the bus to the skill center, we all were talking about what was going to happen to us. There was talk of the draft being reinstated. And this time, they talked about having women register for the draft. And then the talk ranged from “should we go to war or just rebuild and move on?” I remember that a lot of my classmates were antiwar. I felt we needed to go to war—with Afghanistan. Not the Iraq fiasco that happened.
I used to believe in the saying “an eye for an eye”. Now, I think personal revenge is the way to go. Have a glow-up instead of trying to get back at someone. It’s much more peaceful.
The next day, we had school. We started the day with a moment of silence and then recited the Pledge of Allegiance, which honestly I hadn’t recited since third grade, maybe? It was my birthday, and to be honest, I felt miserable. I felt ashamed. I felt guilty about having a birthday. Not the typical feelings to have on your birthday. And you’re only 17 once. I wondered what my future was going to hold. Did I even have a future? I pondered.
School let out, and my best friend Sarah came home with me. We were going to celebrate my birthday together, along with our friends Misty and Holly. And I was hoping my boyfriend Rich, would show up as well.
Rich was a toxic on-and-off relationship I had when I was 16. We were on again at that time, and I had invited Rich to come over for my birthday. We were a lot like Donald and Daisy Duck. He had a temper; I had a temper. He wasn’t very kind to me at all, as a matter of fact. He would verbally abuse me. Call me fat, stupid, ugly. And yet, I put up with it for some reason. Probably because I believed those things about myself because of low self-esteem and having depression. I also wanted a boyfriend for the sake of having a boyfriend that I didn’t care if he treated me rotten or not.
Misty, Sarah, Holly, and I were having a blast together. But the possible upcoming war and draft were the topic of our conversations. Sarah and I were worried not only about the draft involving us women but also our boyfriends at the time (Rich and Zach).
Just as we were going outside, Rich pulled up in his red Pontiac car, blaring rap music. Rich acted like he didn’t want to be with me or be around me. He didn’t even wish me a happy birthday or hug and kiss me.
I don’t remember what happened, but somehow, Rich got into an argument with either Sarah or Misty and me, and he called all of us ugly, especially me. He then sped off and squealed his tires and left.
I was in tears. My birthday that year was ruined. By an asshole that I should have left at 16. And stupid 9/11 terrorists. And I left him alone after that day. He tries to friend request me on Facebook from time to time, but I block him and his profiles.
The 2001-2002 school year was the worst school year and the best school year at the same time.
Aging
By: Samantha Jean Tate
I’m not sure how I feel about aging. On one hand, I’m past the craving validation phase. No longer looking for men to satisfy me or to accept me. I accept myself —every curve, every trait. I accept my fate of no Saturday night dates. I wear clothes for comfort and to feel sexy, not to impress anyone.
I’m not sure how I feel about aging. I can’t handle greasy food anymore. I can’t sleep in until noon — instead, I wake up at the crack of dawn, starting my day with pills and breakfast. I can’t sit criss-cross applesauce for very long; otherwise, my sciatica hurts.
I’m not sure how I feel about aging, but I know I am enjoying every second.
Another Birthday Ruined...By an Asshole...
Another toxic on-again-off-again relationship also ruined my 40th birthday. Only this time, I wasn’t as self-aware to get myself out faster.
It was the morning of my 40th birthday. I was texting my recent ex. He went on and on about work and how much he had to do at home that day. He completely forgot to wish me a happy birthday. And I know that doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but it was a big deal to me. He wasn’t coming up here from Missouri to see me. And his birthday card he allegedly sent got lost in the mail, conveniently. And then he never sent me a gift or flowers. He went on talking about his day without telling me happy birthday.
Now, if you talk to him, he will state that he was planning on wishing me a happy birthday when he called me. But I didn’t know this. And it honestly didn’t matter. Not to be acknowledged, even through text, on your special day, felt like a betrayal to me. I felt like I did not matter to him as much as he said I did. And that he allegedly mailed out my card on September 10th, at the very last minute, made me angry.
We’ve had talks before about how special birthdays and certain holidays are to me. But no, he did not honor that. He always sent stuff really late or not at all. He claims his ADHD makes him forget. Full of excuses, as you can see. Blames everything but doesn’t take responsibility for himself. Or he wouldn’t send it at all because “we were fighting and weren’t talking at the time”. He had no romantic bone in his body. And I get that some people don’t have a romantic sense in themselves.
I was wrecked the whole day. And that’s when things started turning in my tiny brain. I need to let him go—but it won’t be until May 2025 that I finally let him go. Sometimes, you just gotta let a relationship run its course, and you need to just be fully done. And I needed almost three years to completely be finished with his shenanigans.
It’s My Birthday!
By: Samantha Jean Tate
It’s my birthday!
Did you know it’s a special one?
Probably not—
I didn’t set Facebook to remind the world.
That’s on me.
But you—my lover,
You were supposed to know.
I waited for the words: “Happy Birthday, baby.”
But they never came.
You forgot.
And in that silence,I realized—
Maybe I don’t mean as much to you
As I thought I did.
It’s my motherfucking birthday.
And you forgot.
That’s how I know
It’s time to make a change.
As you can tell, I wrote this poem after the incident. It was my coping mechanism for the day. That, and crying, and going to therapy. Which, ironically, I had a therapy appointment that day. I was planning on talking with my therapist and reflecting on making it to 40. Instead, I spent the day making an action plan to leave my ex behind. And venting. A lot of venting went on.
What I’ve Learned
I think the one thing I learned is that the older you get, the less special your birthday is. It doesn’t really matter to anyone. But you. And I guess that alone can make it special. You can’t depend on having a partner to remember your birthday or family to make it special.
This year, I plan on getting some McDonald’s for lunch, having a solar return reading from my astrologer, and getting a pizza for dinner. Then, I will spend the night in my bedroom listening to music, journaling, reading my tarot cards, and playing The Sims on my laptop. I also hope to have a few tarot readings for clients booked that day.
You make your day, birthday or not. You don’t have to give assholes the power to ruin days, like your birthday. Yes, some things are just plain shitty (like the Rich fiasco and 9/11), and they shouldn’t happen, but remember...you made it to the next level! Don’t let guilt or a partner ruin your day. Your day is about you! Make it count! You’re not the same age twice.
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