My grandmother had two birthdays. For most of her life she celebrated on August 26th, the birthday she’d known since childhood. Then, sometime during the late 1960s, her husband found a box on the upper shelf of a closet in their Bronx apartment. Among the important papers it contained was Rachel’s birth certificate, something that had been there for decades but apparently never actually read. Surprise! My grandmother’s birthday wasn’t August 26th, and she hadn’t been born in 1908. The verified date of birth was June 26, 1907.
If my grandmother had been into astrology–which she wasn’t–maybe she’d have been annoyed to discover that after spending her life reading Virgo’s horoscope, her real sun sign was Cancer. If she’d been prone to pondering her personal history (again, not too useful in my grandmother’s world), it might have been a little disappointing to realize that all the childhood milestones she’d accomplished so precociously ahead of her peers were actually right on schedule given her true age. Even basic facts, like the age gaps between Rachel and her siblings, shifted just because my grandfather decided to root through the closet. At the very least, it had to to tweak her perspective a bit to realize that a fundamental fact she’d believed all her life was wrong.
But Rachel being Rachel, she plowed through my grandfather’s “older woman” jokes and came out with the solution she liked best: she would now celebrate both birthdays each year. The change-the-date notice didn’t rock her world at all, and maybe she was right. Other than a potential paperwork nightmare, what was different?
The stats on my grandmother’s birth certificate offer a snapshot of the beginning of her life. They give us her (correct) birthdate, her family’s address at her birth, her parents’ names, ages, country of origin, and the number of siblings awaiting her arrival. The facts remain constant, but they take on more depth as my grandmother defines her world with the pieces life gives her. Both names on her birth certificate — Rachael Levy — change, the second name through two marriages and the spelling of the first for a reason known only to the reborn “Rachel.” The Lower East side address gets swapped out for locations in the Bronx, Florida, and finally Annapolis. Her parents get older, then pass from her grasp; the number of siblings at home increases, then wanes as everyone leaves home for individual paths. The birth certificate can’t show what my grandmother made of her life. It can’t show her lifelong devotion to her mother, her bond with her sisters, the resilience she somehow found in her early forties when her husband died suddenly, leaving her with four children to support and continue raising.
Palmists read both palms when giving readings, believing that the nondominant hand shows what a person was given at birth, while the dominant hand shows what has become of those attributes. I think of my grandmother’s birth certificate as her nondominant hand, her launching pad. But while the circumstances surrounding her birth certainly impacted her life, what she made of that life also added dimension to the facts preserved on the birth certificate. Who she became and the choices she made increased the meaning of otherwise static figures.
My grandmother’s decision to celebrate both birthdays each year meant that we could potentially get into trouble if we forgot either one. So, I’m not forgetting. Happy (sort of) Birthday, Grandma Rachel, wherever you may be. I hope you’re having a wonderful time defining yourself however you please!
This is so magically strange! Love it. And your grandmother must have been a fascinating woman
She has a mischievous smile!
I wonder how they got the date wrong. How did they choose her new birthday 14 months later? Interesting story.
Maripat, the date switch is particularly baffling when you realize that Rachel’s next sibling actually WAS born in 1908. (The 1920 census lists that sister’s birth two years later, but the birth certificate says otherwise.) All I can think is that nobody had the time (or the language skills) to pay attention to exact birthdays and pulled up approximate dates when necessary. My father’s mother, born in Europe, had no idea when she was born. When my dad was a kid, he tried to narrow it down by talking to his grandmother and older aunts about the weather, crops, and current events surrounding her birth. He concluded that she had been born in late winter in maybe 1892, so he used that year and gave her the birthday of the sitting president, Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Elizabeth, she could be downright formidable!
Shawn, as I get older I understand her more. As is always the case, I have so many questions I wish I could ask her now that the opportunity has passed.
That’s wonderful! I love your Grandma Rachel and her attitude and double birthday and jaunty smile to go with that jaunty hat.
Didn’t know your grandmother and never met your aunts but if your mom was indicative of the way they were raised, your grandmother must have been one special lady. I so loved your mom.
Such an interesting story. How fortunate for your grandmother that your grandfather discovered the birth certificate , for him, not so much, as I am sure it required another birthday gift.
Makes you wonder how often this happened back then.
Thanks for sharing, I really enjoyed reading it.
Thanks for your kind comments, Mary! I think every family has stories like this, and they tend to get lost as generations move forward. I enjoyed sharing this one!
Kristina, the jaunty hat is only a forerunner to Rachel’s 1950s “glamorous blonde” period!