The fuss you make over me

I was thinking about my birthday today. It seems silly to me that I go through the same thing ever year. People, they try to get my excited about my birthday, congratulating me, taking me out, and anything else they can think of. But consistently it feels wrong. I don't like people making a fuss over me. Perhaps it is because I am scared ill get used to it. Then when my birthday comes around only once a year, I will be sad when I don't have people making a fuss over me. Also I often feel like I don't really deserve having people make a fuss over me. Like what did I do that was so great that deserves people stopping what they are doing to honor me?

But I feel, the need to be fussed over is present in all humans. Guys are supposed to hate it, and maybe that was why I was so impressed with supposedly hating it. Because it is a pretty “masculine” thing to be making a fuss over someone. Being taken care of, pampered, or looked after were never really things that men do. My dad would always suffer through anything for us kids. Going to work sick, looking after us when he was exhausted, going without so we had.

After a while I learned that these were things that I was supposed to do for the people I love. But if you look at my dad he won't ever stop working, won't slow down, and won't ever let someone pamper him. When I was young I thought it stemmed from a lack of self worth, but anymore I am not so sure. I think men just don't really know how to be looked after. We know how to suffer, we know how to work, and we no how to compete.

I never really understood the desire to be fussed over until I met Rose. She is the only one that I can stand being nice to me because I can trust that it comes from such a place in her heart that there couldn't possible be malevolence, bitterness, or anything other than love.

A couple years ago, Rose brought me cupcakes for my birthday, and strangely I found it the sweetest thing. People had gone out of their way like that before, and at the time Rose even noted that she would do that for any of the friends. But just the fact that some one like her could turn up at your door late at night with the forethought and good nature to do that for someone even if I was leaving within weeks.

Since then when ever I get alone with Rose, I secretly love being fussed over. Like each act was a little gift of a reminder that I am still the luckiest man alive. Still have the love of the most beautiful girl in the world. Other friends, they lend me their pencil, and I feel like I owe them something. With Rose, there is a different connotation. I just feel like it is a log put on a fire, like every time she fusses over me, I feel closer to her, things burn brighter, and want to fuss over her.