Every Queen needs her crown. Those were the words written in a birthday card I received earlier this week along with a silver crown with the number 50 right in the middle. The friend that sent it addressed the package to “Her Royal Highness, Queen of Debbieland.” (For an explanation of this, see my February 12th blog, Six Word Memoirs.) Upon opening the package and putting on the crown, I stated to my kids that I would wear the crown all week in anticipation of my birthday that is this weekend. Stunned and worried, my eleven-year-old son said, “You aren’t going to pick us up at school this week; are you?” Obviously, he felt he’d be a bit embarrassed by having his mom show up at school wearing a crown, yet two days later when I came downstairs in the morning without the crown, he immediately asked where it was and went to my room to get it for me.
As promised, I’ve worn the crown all week – at home, to the grocery store, bank and post office, out to dinner and to see the new Indiana Jones movie last night. It’s been fun to watch people’s reactions. Most people don’t say a thing (my oldest son says that’s because they don’t want to engage in a conversation with a crazy lady), but many do and those that do say something seem to think it’s fun that I’m proudly wearing my crown and proclaiming my upcoming birthday. My dry cleaner even asked if she could borrow the crown later this year when she turns 50. Would I have done this at 20 or 30? I doubt it. At those ages I was still too worried about what other people might think and I didn’t have enough self-confidence to pull off being “different”. The crown is perhaps along the same vein as the “old” woman in the poem who proclaims that she will wear purple, but that’s okay. I’m happy to be at a stage in my life when I can wear a crown, feel like a queen and not feel foolish about it.