Ever go your whole life believing something to be true and then you realize it isn’t? No? Well then bear with me.
I was born on September 2nd. Up until about an hour ago, I thought I was born in the fall. I was a “fall baby.” If I had to choose, I would say it is my favourite season. It made sense.
All the stars aligned. Life wasn’t a mystery.
And then I saw a survey online that asked: “What season were you born in?”
I read that question and the activity in my brain went from a full stop, to a Usain Bolt down the street.
Fall…no wait a minute…maybe it was…summer…no…I was born in the fall…THE FALL…let me Google this just to be 100% sure……………. “September 22 is the official beginning of Autumn.”
I’m telling you, the world stopped. THE WORLD STOPPED. It may still be stopped.
My eyes were open, but I wasn’t staring at anything. That’s how shocked I was.
I’m paralyzed by this discovery.
I guess I already knew this. The first day of fall arrives every year and it’s always made into a big deal. They announce it on TV. On Twitter. On Facebook. And then on TV again, in case you missed it the first 9 times. How thoughtful.
But even though I heard it, it didn’t register.
My day of birth fell on Labour Day Monday, in 1991. I guess it wasn’t enough that for 23 years I have been hearing the phrase: “Labour Day is the unofficial end of summer.”
Those eight words are quite clear, especially the last three. “End of summer.”
IF IT’S THE END OF SUMMER, THAT MEANS IT’S STILL SUMMER, PAUL. IT SAID NOTHING ABOUT FALL. NOTHING. READ IT AGAIN, PAUL.
Great, I’m yelling at myself in my head and on a computer screen.
I’ve lost it.
And, Labour Day was also the last day of summer vacation before school started.
Back to capital letters now…
THE CLUES WERE THERE.
Now, obviously my birthday doesn’t fall on Labour Day Monday every year, but the
clues facts were there for me to realize sooner that I was technically born in the summer.
I don’t know how to feel. I’m laughing so hard inside, but in a state of shock on the outside. I’m also wondering how many of you are thinking I’m making a big deal out of this.
Well, yeah I am making a big deal out of this. That’s what I do on this blog. I over-exaggerate the importance of things. So let me rant.
My life has been a lie.
There’s nothing wrong with being born in the summer, it’s just a season. I just never thought I was, and finding this out now has been shocking.
This is like finding out “sub sauce” is just Italian dressing. The whole time, I thought it was some secret sauce that goes by a code name. NOPE.
I’ve been rendered speechless. Wow.
I can never look at the first 22 days of September the same way again. My brain just associates the entire month with fall.
Maybe the people in charge of deciding when seasons should start should have a meeting and reconsider their official start dates. There are four seasons, and twelve months. Three months per season. Start each season on the 1st of a month. And….GO! Make it happen.
Or maybe the Earth should adjust the rate it spins, so it can line up with the start of each month.
You know, whichever method is easier.
I’ve turned this into a really big deal when it really isn’t. If you read all of it, you’re a gem.