I was thinking about my first Christmas when Cindy and I were dating. She was fifteen, and I was twenty when we started dating. I do not remember what I gave her for her birthday. I do remember picking her up that morning and bringing her to our home.

She had been there several times before. Mom and Dad had no problem with this girlfriend coming for Christmas dinner. Cindy did not know that there was another celebration scheduled for that afternoon. When we were eating dessert, there was a birthday cake.

Mom, Mary, made the statement that Christmas was over. It was now Cindy’s birthday. If she were alive, that birthday would have been remembered after we had Christmas dinner. This has been the tradition with our girls and the entire family almost every year since then. First, it’s Christmas, and then it is over, and the birthday begins.

After her sixteenth birthday that year, she earned her driver’s license. When she completed her sophomore year in high school, we were engaged. After she turned seventeen, we were married, and that first December after we moved to Joplin, she turned eighteen and brought my lunch to me at the convenience store where I was the assistant manager.

We now spend her birthdays at home with our grandchildren when they can all make it. The problem is that as she has celebrated her day of birth, it has been overshadowed by the so-called birth of the man named Jesus. Someone thousands of years ago determined to change a pagan festival to Christmas.

Happy Birthday, Jesus is a great song to sing today, but we will sing Happy Birthday, dear Cindy. She is a few years past her twentieth, and our time together has been spent remembering the actual day of her birth, not some holiday concocted by the manufacturers and retailers to guilt us into buying stuff they could never sell without advertising.

This year, our family will remember Christmas in a few days, and tomorrow, all I must do is celebrate Cindy’s birthday with a quiet meal. This is my way of wishing Cindy a happy birthday and telling her that I love her as much or more than I did when we honored her at her sixteenth birthday party the first Christmas we spent together.  1-4-3, baby.

©Copyright 2025 by Charles Kensinger