Ever since turning thirty I have had this thing about my
birthdays, like not wanting them to come. I have indifferences about getting
older and my birthday is just another reminder of that. Maybe it's because I
am happy with my life where it is. My kids are still nice to me, I am healthy,
I have most of my hair left, and I don't have any unsightly nose or ear hairs to
pluck. Yesterday, my wife got frustrated with me because I didn't really care
if we had friends over to hang out for my birthday. She said, "I'm not mad at you; I just wish you'd be excited about your
birthday instead of moping around about it. It's something to celebrate, and
you're making it kind of blah."
Like 99.9% of the
time, my wife is right. I have been moping around about it for five years
now. I wasn't interested in everybody making a big deal out of me getting older
so I just shrugged off the birthdays like they were any other day. But she is
right - it is something to celebrate and I am happy to have lived another year
and will hopefully have many more to grow on. So let's party!
In honor of the day
my Mother birthed me into this wonderful world, September 6, 1972, I am going to write a little
poem for you.
Happy Birthday to me
Another year has
gone by with
Plenty more I hope
to see
Pardon me as I get
older and forget
Your name
3 times you will
tell me before I remember
5 times before I
forget it again
This won't be a
problem anytime soon
Hopefully we will
all wear nametags by then
Birthday beer, food, and chocolate cake
In my stomach
Rioting for space
Trying to decide who
will win
Hands down the beer
will do them in
Day after it's
coffee
And maybe breakfast
tacos
Yummy in my tummy
To another great
year! I will say
On with life, let's
enjoy the day!
Meet me back here at
Quirkee in a year
Eagerly awaiting
more birthday cheer.
Happy Birthday to you, too, Mia!
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