Princess Birthday

When I was a little girl, I was given a set of colored markers on my tenth birthday. Nowadays, colored markers are common commodities for kids. Back then, they were a treasure, at least to me. They stayed in my desk drawer rarely used because I didn’t want to use them up. Having them gave me greater pleasure than using them.  I know a couple of kids who have done this with Halloween candy. They try to keep a little Halloween around until next year.

This must have been what it was like for Dawk, one of the Burmese refugee girls I’ve gotten to know, who just turned eleven years old. She has been coming over regularly to the family I visit to get help on her homework.

 The Burmese do not celebrate birthdays like we do, but I like to celebrate their birthdays because it is a chance for me to reach out to one child, separate from their siblings. A couple of weeks ago, I asked Dawk what she wanted for her birthday. She said she didn’t know, but five-year-old Kay Lee rattled off what she wanted. She said/drew/mimed that she wanted a princess dress, a crown and a doll. With each thing, Dawk exclaimed that she wanted them, too. She told me that she likes the color blue.

I stopped in at Target and picked out the only Disney Barbie princess doll that wears a blue dress – Cinderella. I went to the Disney store to get her a Cinderella princess dress and was shocked at the prices. The average dress costs $40.00. They are not made especially well and with cheap, stiff fabric. Luckily I found one in her size on clearance that was blue and white. A friend gave me a sparkly tiara that she had left over from a party.

The day of Dawk’s birthday, she met me in the parking lot and was grinning from ear to ear. She told me that she never had a birthday present before. I handed her the bag with the tissue-wrapped gifts.  As I walked in, I immediately noticed the beautiful Buddhist shrine of gold candle holders and vases of flowers prominently positioned on a shelf over a shabby couch. The floor was covered in tile, which made the place seem cleaner than the old, dirty carpet in the Phans’ apartment. I sat on the couch, and the mom, grandfather and another older man sat across from me on the other side of the room, smiling and watching me interact with the Dawk and her four younger sisters. The girls made me feel more comfortable, as they crowded around me on the couch.  “Dawk,” I said, “Open your presents.” She smiled and carefully unwrapped the princess dress, and then wrapped it back up. She took out the crown, unwrapped it, and wrapped it back up.  The last thing was the doll, and she did the same thing: unwrapped it and wrapped it back up, putting all three things back in the gift bag. Dawk radiated happiness, as she excitedly tried to guess each tissue-wrapped gift. Her delight was not boisterous, it was quiet, more like a cat’s purr.

I might have done the same thing if I were her: wrap the presents back up so that they stay as presents and don’t get used up or lost in the milieu of four sisters’ belongings.