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Week of Thursday, February 26, 2004
Leap year babies don’t By PETER FLETCHER Conserve your pity and bestow it upon those who truly need it when you consider the circumstances of those of us born on Feb. 29. As a child, I was quickly made aware my birthday was exceptional, out of the ordinary, unlike any of my sandbox associates. Mere cake and ice cream were not sufficient to commemorate such an occasion. In non-leap years, I was given parties on both Feb. 23 and March 1 as no one could solve the ageless dilemma of which was the appropriate day. Some held that as long as you were born in February, you must celebrate in February, so the 28th was it. Others argued you had to do your partying the day following the 28th, so we’d spill into March. When an actual 29th came along, folks really went berserk, and again peers were filled with dismay by all the attention showered upon a leap year freak. One became marked early in life with a natal anniversary no one forgot, guaranteeing extra attentions. Then there are the legislators who adopt certain laws tying events to one’s date of birth. Long ago, the federal draft laws said young men must register for the draft in the 10-day period before or following their 18th birthday. This means I would register in my 72nd year. Uncle Sam finally wised up, amending the law to read "18th year" instead of "18th birthday." We were back in sync with birthday commoners. In Michigan, your driver’s license expires on your birthday. One year, my license was set to expire and there was no 29th. I stopped in at the local Secretary of State office, showed the clerk my license and asked what day of the week it would expire. The clerk picked up the nearest calendar, gave it a puzzled look, cast it aside saying it had no 29th and went seeking a correct version. With a second calendar also missing Feb. 29, a dim and distant light began to dawn, and the pronouncement was made with great gusto: "There is no 29th this year." I readily concurred. I repeated my simple, but perplexing query and got a definite and declarative "I don’t know" from the hapless servant of the public weal, seated beside the computer connected to Lansing. I suggested the question be passed up the line to a bright light in the state Capitol. To this idea I obtained one of the all time great bureaucratic rejoinders, which has given me aid and succor ever since. The clerk blurted, "They know even less than I do," and we both sensed we were in the midst of an exceptional revelation. A few years ago, in a burst of birthday sympathy, Fred Sanders of chocolate and baking fame offered a free birthday cake to anyone born on Feb. 29. I arrived at the Sanders emporium at closing time. I was told they’d run out of free cakes because more of us had appeared than they’d been told existed by the Bureau of Census. But I was allowed to select any cake they had left. I happily trotted off with a massive caloric remembrance and was sated for many days thereafter. On Sunday, Feb. 29, 2004 I shall finally attain my 18th birthday. City Clerk Bob Slone has agreed I can register to vote. I expect to hear from Democrats and Republicans trying to recruit me and solicit my vote. That same day my friends are hosting a modest tea party from 10:30 a.m. to noon following the morning service at the First United Methodist Church, 209 Washtenaw. Everyone is welcome as old political battles are relived and my eccentric ways are chastised. |
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