THE SOCIAL ANIMAL

When I was four years old I attended a birthday party to which I had been happily looking forward.  After I got there, the birthday girl told me "you only came because you wanted cake!".
I spent the entire afternoon hiding under the table, behind the tablecloth.
It was a very nice party.
I did not have any cake.

I hadn't been invited by the person whose birthday it was, but by her parents who had insisted that my mother bring me.

When my mother came to take me home, I thanked the hostess for the wonderful time and for the lovely cake. 
She complimented my mom on what a well-behaved little man I was, so quiet!  Everyone else had been running around breaking things and screaming, she hadn't noticed me at all!
Probably because I had been invisible all afternoon.
Underneath the table with the cake.
Of which I didn't have any.



BRING ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE

Birthdays have always been fraught.  In Dutch grammar schools at that time it was the tradition that the person celebrating brought candy to pass out to everyone. Which often was NOT what they wanted to do, but the teachers made sure everybody got some.
I remember several of us being told afterwards "the piece you had was poisoned, you are going to die!"
Saying that is a charming practical joke to play on the Jews, Indonesians, Surinamers, and the single American kid - after the first time, it no longer frightens, primarily because the candy will be discretely discarded later, as if one knows that it would taste like sawdust.
Take it to be polite.  And to avoid alerting teachers.
Just don't eat the damned stuff.
It's cursed.

A novel spin on exclusion was the time when one of my classmates hissed "I'm not eating any of that filthy Yankee crap!" and refused to take the candy I was handing out.  Several others did likewise.
In fact the candy I brought to school for my birthday was Droste's Pastilles, a very nice, quite addictive, Dutch chocolate, of high quality and excellent reputation.  Which would be clearly recognizable to the little Netherlanders with whom I went to school, if only they had learned how to read; the label on the box was in their language, not mine.

I cannot recollect being at a single birthday party during those years, but many of my classmates must have wonderful memories of such events. 
Afterwards they would gush.


High school was a relief.  It was an academic environment (Atheneum and Gymnasium), so the others were not as casually vicious or close minded, and were more capable of understanding that being American was not necessarily a frightful personal failing.  Nothing deliberate, probably just horrid luck.
And by that time the Yanks had already started negotiating with the North Vietnamese, so the sense of outrage at what the evil running dogs of colonialism were up to was fading. 
In any case, my peers weren't deliberately cruel.

There was one birthday I attended during those years, but as I did not feel at ease (it having become apparent that I had been invited just so that I wouldn't feel left out), I spent a lot of time at the far end of the garden admiring the rose bushes, and made my excuses as soon as it was diplomatic to do so.

After another party several people wanted to know why I had not come.  Well, I didn't know about it!
I actually did know about it, ALL about it, because I had heard nearly everyone talking about it for at least a week beforehand, but I had not been included in those conversations.
My error was that I should have assumed that I was invited.
Instead of waiting to be asked.

That way lies madness. 


Three categories of personal versus group dynamic come into play.
Feeling welcome, grudgingly included, and being excluded.

Exclusion is painful, however a casual "just because" invite is not in any way better.  One should always politely decline such things, rather than risk being embarrassed by someone wondering why one is even present. 
Showing up uninvited is worst of all.
Some social events are obligatory, and almost sacramental - sharing food and drink in celebration with ones friends and companions, for instance.
But when one is merely there on sufferance it is better not to be there.
One's presence might add lustre, more likely disquiet.
Being absent is a benefit to everyone.
More satisfying, too.

I don't deal well with birthdays, and I don't do well with groups.  Even when it's my own birthday I wonder if I should even be on hand, and for years I tried not to be noticed for months in advance, anxious that I not seem in any way to be alerting people to an occurrence which really wasn't significant, and which people might prefer to ignore.
Wiser not to draw any attention, because after all I'm only here for the cake.

When I still lived in Berkeley several of my friends once went out to eat together on my birthday.  I heard later that they hadn't asked me to come along because "you know him, he doesn't like such things......".
Apparently they had a truly wonderful time.
The food was amazing, absolutely amazing!


KARMIC EQUIVALENT OF CAKE

I've been thinking about these matters a lot recently because I've had pizza with other people several times since August, which is far more than in the preceding half-year.  Pizza truly is something that has to be shared, a group meal of which there must be enough for everyone.
Sharing food is psychologically and ritually important.
I rather like pizza.  It speaks to me.
Casual, yet communal.
Sacramental.


I am accustomed to being on the outside looking in, but I was at two events recently where everyone made me feel welcome.  Not as a deliberate inclusionary act, not with any forced bonhomie, but quite naturally and without any pretense. 
They were genuinely happy to see me.
It's fun being around adults.
I'm quite chuffed.



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