Middle’s educated guess why he hates birthdays

Middle is opening up on why he hates birthday celebrations, the ones where we all sing Happy Birthday while he blows out the candles on his Colin the Caterpillar cake and gets presents. Weird right, but I don’t say this because I’m piloting a new parenting technique called Listening.

“I remember in primary one,” he says, “it was my birthday and I had to stand up at assembly, after I’d had THAT terrible haircut, and everyone was forced to sing Happy Birthday to me. Then I had to walk out to the front to collect a certificate from the head teacher. Then I was made to leave the hall first, as a special thing, but it felt like a punishment. And I had to walk all the way across the big, empty playground by myself, along the corridors to my classroom. And it was empty. I’d never seen it empty before.

“On the way I’d crushed the certificate and shoved it in a bin, but a teacher saw, and came in the classroom with it and gave me a cuddle, and that made me cry. Then all my class arrived, and I was crying and being cuddled and had a funny haircut and…”

“Enough!” I’m welling up. “Don’t! That’s terrible. Poor wee scone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t buy a van and homeschool you all as we travelled the globe.”

“S’OK. I’m getting my own van. And I’m having people round tomorrow – come, but it’s not a birthday party.”

Later I tell Youngest I’ve solved the mystery of Middle’s birthday party phobia. “Oh yeah?” she says.

“Well, when he was in primary one, on his birthday he had to stand up at assembly with a funny shaved-to-the-wood haircut – this was before Peaky Blinders, so not cool – and…”

“Yes mother. I was there when he told us,” she says.

“So you were. Well, explains it, doesn’t it? An experience like that would leave you psychologically scarred. Imagine, every time you hear the opening bars of Happy Birthday, saw a cake with candles...”

“Yes I heard all that. But I think there’s another explanation.”

Oh? Could she have sibling insight that could change the way I parent? “Really,” I say, intrigued, “what?” “He’s just annoying.” ■