My father never wanted to celebrate his birthday, and it always pissed me off. Like, how on earth could there be someone who didn’t want to celebrate their own special day? Cake! Presents! Ice cream! Attention! Candles! Balloons! A special meal! AND CAKE, FOR CHRISSAKE!

It would upset me a great deal when, every year, I would ask, “What do you want to do for your birthday?” and he would respond, “Nothing. I don’t want anyone to celebrate it.” And, it wasn’t an attention-getting kind of response. I knew he was truly done and over with the whole thing. I could never understand it. I had no clue as to why he would feel that way.

Now? I do.

I see quite a bit on social media of how birthdays in the 21st century are celebrated. Some people celebrate for the whole month. Others have big parties, donate to charities, or spend quiet days with their parents or close family. I’ve done a little bit of all of the above. I’ve even traveled on my birthday. This year, though, I’m pretty sure I’m done with the whole shebang. Not because of my impending 50th. My age has never bothered me.

And this isn’t a cry for attention. No. I’m Tom Scarbro-done with my birthday.

I don’t want the cake. I don’t want the attention. I’m pretty sure that I want to just be left to my own devices. I’m going to wake up that morning, get out of the house, turn off my phone, and do a few things for me that I enjoy. Then? I’ll get home in time to get the kids off their school bus, fuss at them about homework, put on my green belt and kick a few power bags, and then go to bed.

My mother managed to destroy my 46th birthday, and I allowed that to happen. I sat, staring, at the chocolate cupcake I had purchased for myself, after organizing my family dinner, and listened to her yell at me. I had hoped that 47 would be better, but it really wasn’t. Tyler and I escaped Woodstock for Florida, but he came down with a case of food poisoning. Not his fault, but I was still sad, alone, and watching TV with room service on my birthday wishing I had just stayed home instead of running as far away from my mother as our Skymiles would allow.

There have been other birthdays that weren’t the greatest and I’m pretty sure that’s because social media, television, and movies have made it seem that birthdays need to be huge extravaganzas, full of celebratory noise. Honestly? More often than not? Birthdays are more like Sixteen Candles. Just without the hot guy in the Porsche.

Why am I saying all of this? I guess I just need to publicly put it out there that I don’t expect the fanfare. I’m not going to be secretly angry if the surprise party doesn’t happen. That this isn’t a ploy to get attention. Mainly, I’m writing this so that I don’t have to repeat myself multiple times when I get asked, “So, what are you doing for your birthday?”

My answer will be, “Nothing.” And that won’t be the honest answer. I’ll be doing something. I may go to the shelter and pet cats or wander around antique stores or make my way through Atlanta’s top bakeries. I don’t know. I just know that I will do it alone, without expecting any effort from anyone else. And that’s OK because honestly, that’s the way it should have always been.