A long time ago, on this very day

A carpenter and a very pious woman had a child.

People came to see the child, and exclaim: "look at the size of that head!" and "She looks just like her grandfather!" and "What a cute little boy...oh, that's a girl?"

And the child grew, and turned into a precocious, know-it-all, teacher's pet. People noticed the child and called her Holy (generally in the following context: "she's a holy terror, isn't she?" and "Holy shit, does she ever stop talking?")

I am part of a family where no one likes to acknowledge their birthdays. My mother likes to pretend she can't remember when her birthday is, let alone how old she is. But when it comes to birthdays, I'm like a 5 year old. I like to tell people it's my birthday*, I like them to acknowledge it, and I love getting presents, too. I think it's because I'm generally insecure, so I like to give people the opportunity to let me know they care about me and remember that I exist.

*When I was a child, I was notorious for telling people that it was my birthday, even on days that were not my birthday, just to get attention and possibly, gifties. Apparently, I have not entirely outgrown that inclination, although I only admit to one birthday a year now.