Not a song, but an essay I wrote last November as part of an evening of literary performance, on the whole spirit that I hope is part of whatever song you sing to someone on their natal anniversary (could it be that the songs like the Volga Boat Song version are like telling an actor to "break a leg!" before going on stage?.

The Birthday Effect

We could always tell which old family pictures were taken at my birthday because I'd be in pajamas, and there'd be a box of Kleenex™ in the foreground (ah, the joys of a birthday in deep midwinter). It got better. For my tenth, my parents took some friends and me to the American Museum of Natural History to see the dinosaurs. And then, there was my nineteenth. Two teachers "borrowed" me from a writing class and escorted me down the hall to the nursery school, where my health was toasted by a room full of four-year olds.

The birthday parties that made the deepest impression, however, were not for me. They each took place a few tables away at a restaurant. The restaurants' names, décor and menus were all different, of course. But other things were always the same. Conversations would be interrupted by the familiar strains of "Happy Birthday to you!" and all the customers would join in, as a gaggle of waiters made their way down the aisle with a candlelit desert for the guest of honor. We would applaud when the song was over, and then return our attention to our own dinners and lives.

That doesn't happen as much, these days. Restaurant owners, aware that "Happy Birthday" is a copyrighted song, teach their waiters to hail the guest of honor with a peppy chant that no one's heard before. Still, the phrase "Happy Birthday" is in there somewhere, and if you watch those within earshot, you'll see the hint of a smile move across their faces.

I call it "The Birthday Effect." When we learn that it is someone's birthday, we'll wish them a happy one. It doesn't matter if the person is a stranger. And we don't need proof that our good wishes are deserved. Even people who dread their own birthdays, either because they fear the future or regret the past, will wish 'many happy returns' to someone else.

I don't know why this happens. Perhaps it's because birthdays are like holidays, and by saying "Happy Birthday," we get to take part in the celebration, if only for a moment. Maybe it helps us remember those times when others wished us a happy birthday. Maybe it's just being polite. Maybe it's for all of these reasons.

But whatever the reason, one thing is undeniable: it is always someone's birthday -- for at least one out of every three hundred and sixty-five people. At first, it may seem pretty slim odds that you'll actually meet one of them -- until you consider how many people you see in a day. There is, roughly, a one in five chance that someone in this theater is celebrating a birthday tonight.   Now, I'm neither a statistician nor a demographer, but it wouldn't surprise me if, after you factor in all the people you've seen today – maybe standing in line with you at the grocery store, or driving beside you on the roads -- the following statement were true: "You crossed a birthday person's path today."

And so, I'd like to leave you with the following suggestion: treat all the people you meet as if you know they're celebrating a birthday. Don't worry if they are strangers, or if they deserve it. Do it to take part in a celebration, or in memory of kindnesses others have shown you. If nothing else, do it to be polite. You don't need to burst into song, or give them a card. Just let the hint of a smile move across your face, and wish them many happy returns.

True, the chances are, most of the people you meet will not be celebrating a birthday. But the chances are also pretty good that at least one of them will be.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll get invited to the party.

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Now, I'm all inspired to try and write my own birthday song, to a familiar tune...