Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, September 25, 2002


BIRTHDAYS CAN BE SO UNKIND


WHEN my brother-in-law woke up in bed on his birthday recently, his wife - my sister Maureen - said: "Happy birthday, Barry, how old are you?" "Forty four," he said. "Sorry, mate, you're 45," she said, and when I caught up for a birthday drink with him that night in his backyard shed in Geelong, he was still depressed. So what if he had guessed incorrectly? It can happen. At the very least, Maureen should have let him spend the rest of the day thinking he was 44 and not put him straight until they were in bed that night. A hard woman. The last time she remembered my birthday she wrote in the card that I was two years older than I really was. After pointing out the error to her, she said, listen, the next time I remember your birthday, you will be that old, so hang onto the card. Fair point. Over a few beers with his mates in the shed, Barry said he had gone to the credit union at lunch time and when his turn came at the counter, the young female teller had said brightly: "Happy birthday, Barry." A bit startled, he had asked how she knew and she said the computer screen automatically flashed up a greeting on every customer's birthday. "And if I hit this key," she had said, "this happens..." at which "Happy birthday to you..." started playing on every computer in the office, and all the staff and even some customers began to sing along. Barry winced at the memory and opened another stubbie. "When I asked her how old did the computer say I was, she said 45. Are they allowed to hold that sort of information on a computer? Isn't it a breach of privacy or something?" None of us knew although I thought playing Happy Birthday might constitute a form of public harassment. The next day, on a tram from Carlton to the city to meet my son Paul, sitting opposite me was a 19 year old girl talking to the air. Once, a girl sitting on a tram talking to herself would likely be thought of as mad. This one was just using the hands-free attachment on her mobile phone. I knew she was 19 because she was inviting someone to her 20th birthday party next month and she said her sister, who was 24, was bringing a boyfriend who was 30. "I know," she said, "but he doesn't seem that old." My face must have given me away because her glare was as cold as the Oodla Wirra truckstop. Contempt is such an obvious emotion. Now, while it is true that my Medicare card gets more use than my Amex these days, I have not yet reached the stage where I sit waiting for the carers to come and change my incontinence pad. I can still do it myself. Why, when I was in Broken Hill recently I even climbed a steep hill to a sculpture park overlooking the city. They told me about it afterwards when I awoke in the heart unit. Psst, don't go telling anyone this but Jeff Tate, the chief executive of Onkaparinga Council, turns 50 this week. ``Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...''