Usually, when a 1-year-old celebrates his or her first birthday, the parents mark the occasion by a big party with loved ones and a bunch of other kids running around. Everyone gathers around the cake and unfurls the noisemakers by blowing into the birthday kid’s face as she smiles at the burning candles, not knowing what it means to make a wish. There’s usually music, food, pin-the-tail-on-donkey, and tons of fun.
But, alas, this is is my birthday, and it’s not the first ever in my life. This birthday is to mark my first full year as a blogger. My parent, Ned (hey, I’m only one year old. I can barely write much less speak and Ned sounds like Dad), being the harried single father that he is — has forgotten it’s my birthday.
So, there’s not going to be any cake or party (it’s not too late for a surprise). But, worst of all, there won’t be any presents to rip open!
I think I can forgive him, though, because he taught me whatever (little?) I know about writing for an increasingly demanding local audience. My first year of life as a blogger has been very similar to the first year of life, for real. In one year, a typical baby conquers so many major milestones and develops at a phenomenal rate. A blogger (oops, almost misspelled that one as ‘booger’), goes through various milestones, too. A baby learns how to move around, eat, and talk under the careful watch of Mummy and Daddy waiting with a hug and kiss. A baby blogger learns pretty much the same things, except in a virtual world where Daddy Editor watches every word and sends a word here and there: when will you get out of those diapers, kid?
It’s been quite a wild and interesting year full of learning new things that I’d never known before.
Who can forget that first whirlwind lesson at the library? I hung on his every word, trying to absorb as much as I could about this new world of internet media. I must have read thousands of articles over the years, but never once put one together for the real public forum. It was quite newborn nerve wracking. When the time came for the lilbrary to close, they shut off the light and I practically started to cry like a baby.
During my first lessons and much like babies fix their gaze on a speaking person’s face, I stared wide-eyed at Ned’s fingers on the computer and the cursor’s movement on the computer screen. Wonder of wonders, he put together a post right there in front of me. Even my first post – Twist and Shout and Get Sea Sick? – was practically spoon-fed to me. For that matter, the next few posts were, too.
Now you know the truth, or maybe you knew a while ago: yours truly wasn’t born into generations of bloggers. I became one by adoption.
Writing for you readers feels now, for me, like an age-old tradition that has been passed down from my ancestry. But, somehow, I missed the boat on the inheritance. Still, the rewards have been many, mostly intrinsic ones.
It’s been just over one week that dear ol’ Dad took away my favorite blankie, the old Sheepshead Bites format. Boy, have I cried since then. Ned said that it was time that old, ratty thing got tossed. He’s probably right, since this new page has some real nifty little gadgets and a space for advertisers who will soon be knocking down our virtual door. But, just because the cute donation button got tossed out with the blankie, doesn’t mean it’s impossible to send a little birthday gift.
Just so you know, Baby Bloggers look good in green.