I love my birthday. The love I have developed for my birthday is not rooted in the traditional elements such as presents, cake, and a birthday party, but rather in the power I assume on that day. I have developed a deep understanding that birthdays are a universally powerful event. Parental limits are eased and all the attention is focused on me. Furthermore, I use invitations to my birthday party as political tokens that can be used to influence others’ behavior. In the months approaching my birthday, I frame conversations so that I can reference my upcoming birthday. I primarily use this tactic to provide my friends a constant but indirect reminder that they better treat me well or there could be severe consequences when my birthday officially arrives. For those who fail to understand the tale I am weaving into the conversation, I take a more direct approach and do not mince words by clearly stating, “If do not (insert what I want you to do at that moment), then you will not be invited to my birthday.” Is it a false threat? Absolutely, but the other party is inclined to accommodate my demands rather than potentially miss out on the epic party of the year. Harvesting the power of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) is a powerful tool to shape outcomes.
With my fifth birthday approaching, I began my annual sales pitch to my parents that we should have my birthday at Chucky Cheese. This great establishment has a ton games, offers a piñata and pizza, and provides a goodie bag for all the party attendees; it hits all the marks. For the past two years my parents have refused my request for a Chucky Cheese birthday party. I began to seriously question their love and commitment to me. In previous years I have had to sacrifice a lot, settling for idea #15 – a dinosaur themed house party – and #9 -a house party with a jumpy house. For some prospective, I was not asking for the moon. For example, proposal idea #4 last year was an ice cream truck and some live entertainment. I do not need an ostentatious birthday party, but I thought there was room for my parents to offer some concessions. In an attempt to justify his parsimonious position, my father tried to share his wisdom on the allocations of funds for birthday parties versus funds assigned to college savings. Each time he shared his position, I drew the same conclusion: my father was trying to sabotage my birthday (or at a minimum he is super cheap). I even offered to pay for Chucky Cheese myself, and he replied money was not the issue, which kept the sabotage theory very much alive. Unfortunately, I did not have any leverage on my parents, so throwing a raging fifth birthday party seemed like an unsurmountable challenge.
Feeling defeated after exploring all my options I began feeling sorry for myself when a stroke of genius hit me. I would call my Grandma and Grandpa and share my story and they would jump in to help me. I then went to my father and asked if I could use his phone. He immediately began asking me questions on why I needed to use his phone. My coy responses were not progressing the conversation forward so I provided a direct and honest answer that I needed to speak with my grandparents about my upcoming birthday. To my surprise, he dialed the number and handed me the phone. I told him it was best that I take the call in another location and quickly exited to my room. When my grandmother answered the phone I shared how unfair and unreasonable my parents were being. As expected my grandmother was receptive and empathetic and offered her assistance to resolve my predicament. I thought I had secured the Chucky Cheese dream birthday party, but my expectations were quickly tampered when my grandmother unequivocally stated they would not pay nor petition for a Chucky Cheese birthday party. I began attempting to pinpoint exactly how she was going to help but she offered little details. I began to feel discouraged again and even more so when she asked to speak with my father.
After concluding the conversation with my grandmother, my father called me into the living room to have a little chit-chat. He opened the conversation by stating my creative approach to problem solving ended up yielding positive results. He then shared that my grandmother was willing to make a financial contribution to have an ice cream truck come to our house for one hour for my birthday party attendees to choose whichever ice cream they wanted. My father then went on a tangent in which he scolded me for circumventing my parents in order to achieve my goal. I nodded along to appease him while thinking, “It isn’t Chucky Cheese but it is a close second. I can truly work with this.” That night I had difficulty sleeping; my excitement was difficult to contain. The next morning I could not wait to get to school; and share the news that I was going to have an ice cream truck at my birthday party. I could only imagine my friends’ heads exploding from euphoric shock at the prospect of an ice cream truck at my birthday party. When I entered school I told anybody who would listen about the ice cream truck that was scheduled for my birthday party. The news did not disappoint; my friends went nuts, and some were shaking with exciting. The FOMO was unprecedented. My friends were offering me things without a request even being made. In that moment I felt like a king. That invigorating feeling is why I truly love my birthday.