Turning Soot into Gold

Today is my niece’s birthday. I always feel sorry for someone who has a birthday during the holidays. No matter what anyone says, the loot is always less than for someone whose birthday is say—in April or July. It’s really a crime for mothers to give birth in December. They should be more careful in March. I knew someone who refused to give birth on Halloween because she was afraid her child would turn out to be a witch or a ghoul. She held off until 12:01 am. So I know it can be done.

My niece is not resigned to her fate, however. She has learned since she knew how to make lists, to ask for more and look forlorn. Giving guilt trips is her specialty. Make them pity me for being born at such an awkward time, thinks she. Force them to give me more and better gifs to make up for my tragedy, is her philosophy. And it works.

As I go out to shop for her, dirty snow clogging the gutters, a frigid wind biting my nose, the post-holiday sale signs sagging in the shop windows, I find myself on the verge of tears. And I reach deep in my pockets to buy her even more than if she had been born in July.

—Robin Hathaway