Jana Hippeli

Professor Babcock

ENGL138T

January 28th, 2022

This I Believe

I believe in sending birthday cards.

My birthday is my favorite day of the year. Every year, September 12th arrives and I can

feel my mood shift. I am a shameless birthday celebrator. My favorite part? Opening birthday

cards.

The year is 2011 and I’m turning 7. So close to double digits but still so far away. The

cupcakes were being served in my 2nd-grade classroom when I heard the question. My heart

sank as the query traveled through the room. “Why are we celebrating the day after the 10th

anniversary of 9/11?” My eyes welled with tears before I could stop them. My arms and legs

shook as I sat in my paper crown eating my chocolate dessert. I came home that night angry that

I, a proud New Yorker, was born the day after 9/11.

The next night at my family birthday dinner, I was still hurting from my juvenile

classmates’ words. A bright pink card in my grandmother’s purse immediately caught my eye.

As I opened it, glitter and confetti fell into my lap, causing an eruption of laughter to escape from

my mouth after not cracking a smile for nearly a day. The words of endearment and silly surprise

from my grandparents healed all the hurt.

My sixteenth birthday occurred during the height of COVID-19, meaning no Sweet 16

party I’d been dreaming of since watching My Super Sweet 16 three years before. My party was a

Zoom call with close friends and an assortment of Baked By Melissa cupcakes. I appreciated the
thoughtfulness of the quarantine-friendly gathering, but that birthday magic was missing. “The

surprises aren’t done yet baby girl!” my mom exclaimed, pointing to two textbook-thick stacks

of cards. I felt my small, courteous smile turn into a beaming one. I read through each one, with

messages from great friends I hadn’t seen in months. It felt like a day of celebration again.

Three weeks into my college freshman year, it was the big 18. I should’ve been bouncing

with excitement. Instead, it felt like a gloomy dark cloud moved closer as the 12th approached.

Would I have friends to celebrate with? Would anyone from home remember? Would anyone at a

college with 40,000 students care about a random freshman’s 18th birthday? I was beside myself

with anxiety and homesickness. The week of my 18th proved my fears wrong. Each day, a few

cards appeared in the mailbox. By my birthday, I received 21 cards from friends, extended

family, and most special, my mother. I cherished the cards from far away more than the birthday

dinner, treats, and well wishes I’d encountered all day. The cards sit in a shoebox under my desk.

When the distance feels extra far, I take them out and reread them.

So, I believe in sending birthday cards. I know what a birthday card can mean and I hope

one I’ve sent has given another that feeling of love and appreciation on their special day.