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17, plus tax
It's my birthday
March 28, 2003
The Iranian
On the occasion of my birthday, the timeless debate between my "Iranian age"
and my "Khaareji age" starts up. For some odd reason that I still haven't
been able to figure out, my parents and other Iranians seem to calculate people's
age as being already a year-old when the are of the womb. So, whereas I think I just
turned 27, they tell me "beesto-haft saalegeet tamoom shodeh, rafti too beesto-hasht."
(You finished your 27th year and entering your 28th).
Excuse me? This may have been cute when I was 8 or 9 but now that I am on the wrong
side of my 20s, I don't appreciate people making me out to be older than I am --
or at least feel.
First of all, I stopped wanting to celebrate my birthdays since I turned 17. This
was the perfect age for me, late enough in my teens to assert my independence, early
enough to be excused from any real responsibilities. This was back in the day before
my metabolism abruptly came to a grinding halt and I could stuff myself with carbs
and sugar all I wanted without gaining an ounce. It was also my most selfish, self-centered
age. The world revolved around me, nobody really understood me, everybody was a phony,
and I had a unique portal into a higher spiritual and intellectual plane. Holden
Caulfield anyone?
My parents' calculation is similar to those annoying, obnoxious people who keep insisting
that the new millenium would not really start until 2001. And they may be the same
people who correct your grammar when you speak, keep a perfectly updated rolodex
and file their taxes on January 1st. They may be right in all those respects. SO
WHAT?
As the song goes, it's my party and I'll cry if I want to. Well, I don't think I'll
cry. In my case, I think this year I'll forget about bills to pay, careers to advance,
and families to start. I will celebrate my 17th birthday.
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