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I never really understood the whole point of a sweet sixteen. It’s like celebrating a milestone that’s not really a milestone. But some people just blindly follow traditions for the sake of following tradition. For some reason my mother one of those people, and was even kind of obsessed with it. She started talking about it and planning mine before I was even ten years old. She wanted it to be a huge affair, with choreographed dances, performers and god knows what else. She would have totally loved that show, “My Super Sweet Sixteen.” God knows she probably would have tried to copy some of the ideas. Which is totally ridiculous because we had no money, but I’m sure she would have found a way.

Unfortunately,  she never got the chance, I was fourteen when she died. I tried telling her once that I wasn’t really that into it. She laughed and said I’d change my mind. I didn’t bring it up again because I’d do it anyway just to make her happy. It’s kind of sick, when that birthday did come around I was slightly relieved. It always made me feel guilty. I didn’t understand how I could miss her so much yet still feel like a burden was lifted. I still don’t really understand it.

I had to remind my father that it was even my birthday. Instead of a big party I just hung our with a few friends and got shitfaced. I’m pretty sure a few didn’t even realize it was my birthday. (I had great friends then.) While I’ve wondered what it would have been like I’ve never really felt like I missed out on anything.