Sandra Miller-Louden celebrates an unbirthday year and lives to tell the city of Pittsburgh all about it!

The UnBirthday Year


Remember those 7-UP commercials during the ‘60s and ‘70s touting the taste as “wet and wild,” “fresh and clean?” Its “natural lemon-lime” flavor urged consumers to “see the Light of 7-UP” and the campaign was so successful that even Thing from The Addams Family got into the act—its disembodied white-gloved hands pouring the frosty clear liquid from its hinged box. The dark, demented colas might have easily spread their murky, yet seductive charms if not effectively stopped; the four main ingredients of the cola world—caffeine, caramel, cola nut and coca leaf extract—became the enemy and it was Up To 7-Up To Come To The Sparkling Rescue.
This whole ad phenomenon was summed up in a single word—Uncola—a word that drove home the point of a light, airy beverage being the opposite or reverse of our heretofore cola-heavy society. Uncola.
I started thinking about that word now that I’m ready to turn 54. Uncola. Unbirthday. One of those birthdays that don’t seem to mean much any way you look at them. The opposite or reverse of those landmark, apex celebrations.
Actually, as I delved deeper into the subject of Unbirthdays, it occurred to me that most birthdays we mark are Unbirthdays. In fact, the number of Non-Unbirthdays is a paltry 13, with two runners-up.
Here’s the list:
Years 1-5. Okay, these first five years are a huge deal. The first birthday is the one with the smash cake and endless pictures of a crumbly-faced child who’d get yelled at the rest of the year for deliberately eating like a pig. Year #2 is loaded with rhymed greeting cards ending with the word “you.” Ditto for Year #3, only now the cards end with “happy as can be.” Year #4 has “special wishes galore” and by the time year #5 rolls around, most parents are just as glad to have a few years of Unbirthdays ahead to sort of celebrate.
Year 13. Even though everyone greets the celebrant with original remarks like “Well, you’re a teenager now,” that’s about as far as anything out of the ordinary associated with this birthday. Although most people give lip service to 13, have you ever seen a greeting card with the #13 on the front? Definitely qualifies for runner-up status.
Year 16. Speaking of lip service, in my day, this was the birthday where girls were “16 and never been kissed.” Since that’s pretty much an oxymoron today, no one ever says it. It still counts as a heavy hitter though; after all, most 16-year-olds have a driving ambition that’s hard to curb.
Year 21. You’re an adult. You can drink. You’re totally responsible for all your actions. You can drink. You can get sued. You can drink.
Years 30-40-50. They all end in zero and for whatever reason, they’re all mighty important. Thirty and forty are both referred to as “the big one,” although forty has a slight edge because of the traditional black balloons and tasteless jokes. I’ve never quite figured out 50; I guess it’s one of those definitive numbers, which is why there’s a $50 bill and not a $30 or $40 dollar bill. It’s also half-way to 100; which, even with all our medical prowess, no one hardly lives to anyway.
Year 75. There’s a dichotomy with 75, which is why it too, like 13, qualifies as a runner-up year. Seventy-five seems to work just fine for wedding anniversaries and community celebrations, but generates less excitement for birthdays. The whole 75 thing might work better if it were pushed off a year; after all, 76 has its own song (Meredith Willson’s “76 Trombones”) and its own slogan (“Spirit of ’76”). Pretty impressive for a single number.
80-90-100. Although we seem to forget about 60 and 70, turn 80 and all your relatives come out of the woodwork to remind you you’re the Huge Eight-Oh! Greeting cards turn mushy and sentimental; it would be considered the height of horrible taste to talk about needing Viagra or decorating with Over The Hill gravestones. Ninety and 100 are basically the same type of celebration as 80, only on steroids. You can generally get a write-up in the paper when you turn 90 and a photo when you’re 100. People ask you for advice; once upon a time, you had people who claimed they smoked 100 cigarettes a day and that’s why they hadn’t died yet. Today, people are quoted as having a positive outlook.
So, as I watch my measly 54th Unbirthday stumble to the forefront, I realize another 26 years will have to pass before I reach a laudable milestone. Oh well. I’d rather be 54 than 80 anyway and even if no one else thinks 54 is a big deal, I’ll Uncelebrate my Unbirthday in an Unconventional way. Gimme cake with Uncola on the side...and don’t be stingy, Thing.