Shengliver’s Note: What would the parents think should they read the following?

 

It was my seventeenth birthday this Thursday. Nobody remembered it. Even my parents forgot all about it.

At first, I had thought they were just too busy. I believed that they might make it up to me the next day. The next day, to my heartache, they did not even bother to visit me because they claimed that they had something urgent to look after back home in the evening. It was just another one of their shabby lies. I no longer expect them to come and accompany me for this birthday. It is all over.

After all, they did not remember a thing about my twelfth birthday until New Year’s Day that year, when some of our relatives asked them about it. For most Chinese families, a child’s twelfth birthday is a significant milestone, on which occasion family and friends will get together for the celebration, with gifts, flowers and parties.

Since then, I alone have remembered my birthday. Since they cannot even remember the special day, birthday presents from my parents are out of the question. Gradually I have learned to bury this birthday wound deep in my heart and to stop dwelling upon it.

This Sunday, however, something happened in the classroom, which triggered off the birthday memories and laid bare the severe trauma in my heart. My tears could not stop.

On Sunday, during the lunch break, one of my classmates, Dashan, brought a birthday cake into the classroom. He announced that it was his birthday that very day. Having ordered the son a super big birthday cake from a bakery, his parents had it delivered to the school because he could not make it home. We still had lessons to attend on Sunday. Generously, Dashan shared the delicious meal with us.

Why do other parents remember their children’s birthdays? Why are my parents always forgetting about mine? The more I thought about it, the sadder I was. Savouring the delectable treat, I felt tears welling up, trickling down my cheeks, and eventually flooding my face in a torrent.