Though memories of my childhood are dim, some of the brightest moments I can remember from that year revolve around “Pokémon Diamond.” Looking back, I’m sure my father was annoyed by my constant requests for help beating a game he had no clue how to play, especially while we made the long drive all the way from Michigan to Virginia.
I stared, mouth agape, at the warped reflection of my small face in the screen of my brand new ice blue Nintendo DS Lite, not yet knowing how much it would affect my life. It was that glorious summer of 2006, when I received my first video game console. As grateful as I am, the annual party evokes memories of stares as I sit in the middle of the circle, everyone gauging how appropriate my reaction is to each gift - a nightmare scenario for someone who hates being the center of attention.ĭespite my distaste for the annual June 22 occasion, there will always be at least one birthday I won’t forget. Birthdays are just an excuse for the 20-plus members of my close-knit family to gather together. I have a confession to make: I’m not a fan of my birthday.
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