We pick some days to mark. We choose wedding dates to become anniversaries. We choose Thanksgiving, or not. Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Yule or not.
And some days choose us. A grandfather dies on a mother’s birthday. A cousin shares his birthday with the day a best friend miraculously survives.
Today, this jovial fun-filled mischievous holiday was the day my son chose for his birthday and boy, did he hit the nail on the head.
“Mama, dere’s a flower in dere.”
– Yes, love. And we’ll leave it for the bees, won’t we?
“I yam, mama. I yam leaving it for da bees. The bees is hungry. And they make us food! Is it snyacktiem?”