Birthday blues

I finally downloaded the Inquirer app for mobile phones and got a wonderful treat with the “Inq Snap” function: a video of caregiver Rose Fostanes’ performance of “My Way” that made her win in “X-Factor” Israel.

The app is also a convenient and rapid way to get breaking news.  During an early-morning browse on Thursday, it struck me that two of the articles in the breaking news were about Janet Napoles, of pork scam notoriety, not getting special treatment on her birthday.

I’m not surprised two articles focused on what she did and didn’t do on her birthday.  Birthdays are big in the Philippines; people are expected to treat friends out or throw a party, preferably a lavish bash.  The expectations extend to the children and parents, who are also expected to celebrate in a big way.

I’ve had arguments with relatives, friends, even office staff, about this. The office staff know I do not celebrate my birthday, which they find odd, and sad, so every year they still attempt to throw a surprise party and always, I get quite stern about it.

Counting blessings

Sometimes I use an anthropological approach, warning them that the ethnic Chinese do not like throwing parties as we age because the fanfare alerts evil spirits: “Hey, this one got away and is turning 60.  Let’s make sure he doesn’t make it to 61.”

All to no avail, of course. There was even an elderly woman who argued that she’s reached her 90s even with her parties, and that the Catholic Church requires such celebrations, from age 1 to 100, as a way to thank God!

I have no argument with viewing birthdays as a time to count our blessings—friendships, health, a good life.  Which is why I feel birthday bashes are inappropriate and meant more to flaunt wealth and fame.

I worry in particular about children’s parties, having seen how parents go into debt so they can rent space for a party in an events venue or a fast-food restaurant.

Children’s parties can create unnecessary wants for kids. I do have gifts, and special food, for my children on their birthdays but no big bash, and the younger ones do ask why their classmates get much more. I am touched when the older ones do the explaining to their siblings: “Don’t you think it would be better if we save the money to help other people?”

I have friends who ask their children to pick out old toys and clothes on their birthdays so these can be given to an orphanage, or to an urban poor community.  I have to say I have reservations about that because sometimes such hand-outs create new demands for the urban poor children, who will then pester their parents for more of these doles, including particular brand names.  A better alternative is to have the celebrator give out books.  National Bookstore has a good program where you can buy children’s books and the bookstore will take care of getting the books to a disadvantaged community.

Children’s parties are often meant more for the parents and their adult friends, a chance to show one’s status. Their children’s friends are dazzled, too, by all the gimmicks at the parties, some again inappropriate.  One children’s party I attended had giant “transformers,” robot-like creatures with human beings inside, roaming around.  The poor baby, who was turning one, was terrified and crying, but the parents insisted on bringing him up close to the transformers for photographs.

The giveaways, too, can be inappropriate. I remember one party where chicks were given away to the children.  I am sure none of the chicks survived more than a week. This is a good time to praise a pet supplies store at the Edsa Shangri-la mall that had posters last Christmas reminding people: “Pets are for life. Not toys. Not gifts.”

Birthday bashes are actually quite recent phenomena. It used to be that only the very rich would have parties. The poor?  Many didn’t even know when their birthdays were.  I speak here as a researcher, still encountering people in their 30s, mainly the rural poor, who are not sure when they were born, year, month and day.

This is changing, of course, and birthdays mean big money for businesses, so it is to their interest to promote more parties, which become aspirational, a way to show that we are moving upward, socially, each party pushing friends to have even more expensive parties to keep up.

Political capital

Recently I discovered something to add to blues over birthdays.

The other week I was invited to a children’s party by parents who actually owed me money, and had just recently asked for a deferment of one of the promised payments. The party was big—about 50 people, more adults than children.  I also noticed several policemen in one corner, drinking away.

I felt I didn’t have just the right but also the obligation to talk to the parents and point out the contradiction of needing and borrowing money and yet spending so much for a birthday party.

The father just grinned, reminding me of my mother’s wise Chinese proverb about tigers looking like they’re smiling. The mother was apologetic, but insisted they had to have the party because relatives and friends expected it, especially, and she pointed to the policemen, her husband’s friends.

Mind you, the husband is not, and never has been, a policeman. He’s been jobless for more than a year, one of those tambay (standbys) that plague so many of our families and neighborhoods. They’re nice guys, helpful and pleasant (the tiger’s smile) when in the mood, but they’re hustlers as well, always finding ways to get some money without having to work too hard.

This guy was particularly good at building relations with policemen because his late father had been one, fairly high in the hierarchy. The father died several years ago but his name still resonated—important political capital for his son who, by rubbing shoulders with policemen in whatever neighborhood he was in, could accumulate even more of that capital, offering them connections to get things done.

So that day, at a year-old boy’s birthday party, I realized with dismay another function of such parties.  They are also a time for political hustlers and brokers, to display fictitious wealth, and, more importantly, to declare powerful links to people in authority.  The guests are key here, especially if they have flashy vehicles, or official police cars especially, to park in front of your house.

It all fell into place when the mother of the child told me, “But I didn’t have to spend for this. Montano’s (I’ve changed the name of the neighborhood grocer) provided the food.”

Now this couple does not have a restaurant, or a radio show, or a food review column, so how did they get the “donation”?  I did confirm, with a bit of investigation, that all they had done was to tell Montano’s, “Boss, it’s my son’s birthday and we’re having a party.”   A dead cop for a father and living cops for a barkada go a long way, and a birthday party was essential to further advertise one’s connections, for future birthday—I’m groping for words—solicitations, and more.

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