The title of the post may be misleading, it is not really my spring break (because that isn’t a thing after college); it is Zach’s. Though, it is my birthday week. When I was in college, I always thought it was great that my birthday fell during spring break. I could always relax, go on a cool trip and not have to worry about studying.
Less cool, is that I was born during March Madness. Literally. My dad tried to watch the tournament while my mom was in labor. She had to yell at him to turn the TV off because doctors and nurses, who were not her doctors and nurses, kept coming into the room to talk to him and to check the scores of the games.
Growing up, this meant that the little girls coming over for birthday parties would hear an orchestra of obscenities flying from the living room as my dad yelled at the TV. In Utah, where the culture is predominantly Mormon, this is kind of a big deal. My dad isn’t Mormon, but most of my friends growing up were and Mormons don’t swear. I’m sure more than a few kids went home from my birthday parties knowing brand new words.
The year I turned 15 my mom was out of town, so my dad was in charge of being the adult at my birthday party. He promised that he wouldn’t cuss out the TV when my friends were over. And… he did his best.
That night, after my party, I told him, “Dad, you were swearing a lot when my friends were over.” He denied it, said that he had purposely held back and that he was sure he hadn’t let anything slip. He was so convinced that he was right that he called my friend Shae, who only lived two doors down. He got her on the phone and she told him the same thing I had, he did say, “quite a few bad words,” while they were over.
I don’t know that point of this story, except that every year my birthday has coincided with a lot of basketball.
Except, this year! Zach and I are going to Oslo. We leave on my birthday and come home a week later. So finally, 27 years into this thing, I have figured out how to escape basketball on my birthday– flee the country.