Celebrate the Day
As an adult September 23rd has become a day that has a bit of meaning to me. It's Springsteen's birthday, you see, and as we grew to adults, I would have simply let the day pass with a nod of appreciation, but my brother Jeff turned it into something more. I remember one such September 23rd just a couple of years ago.
"Did you have a beer for the boy?" He asked.
"What?" I asked missing the moment.
"Bruce's birthday," Jeff said. "I just opened one."
"Jeff, Bruce has no idea that you're having a beer for him," I said. "He is absolutely clueless that you do that for him every year."
"I don't do that for him," he said. "I do it for me. What if he hadn't been born? Do you ever think of that?"
So, reluctantly, I gave in. I'd go down, get a beer and think of Thunder Road or Promised Land, and raise a toast to someone who wasn't right there with me.
"Bruce feeds off the positive energy," Jeff reminded.
Today should have been Jeff's 40th birthday. The pain in my heart is horrific as I write that sentence, yet there is something pulling me back to areas North of the Roadside Carnival where I store my hurt and self-pity.
Because I want to raise a glass and feed a little of the positive energy and I'll do it too, later today, free of the coaxing to do something that Jeff had to talk me into doing. He was unbelievable at that...the devil on my shoulder...making me have a little fun.
As the sadness threatens to overwhelm me on a day like today, I listen for his voice in my ear, coaxing, laughing, chiding, prodding, planning, scheming, and laughing some more.
The voice rings loud and clear as he makes fun of me for being sad.
"What's wroooooong with you?" He'd ask. "Have a little fun."
So, shot and a beer and a million wish you were here's.
Avoid the carnival. Hell, raise one for Bruce as well. Jeff missed his toast this year.
There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor. I've packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm. Going to be a twister that blows everything down that ain't got the faith to stand it's ground.
Happy Birthday, brother. I still have your back.
"Did you have a beer for the boy?" He asked.
"What?" I asked missing the moment.
"Bruce's birthday," Jeff said. "I just opened one."
"Jeff, Bruce has no idea that you're having a beer for him," I said. "He is absolutely clueless that you do that for him every year."
"I don't do that for him," he said. "I do it for me. What if he hadn't been born? Do you ever think of that?"
So, reluctantly, I gave in. I'd go down, get a beer and think of Thunder Road or Promised Land, and raise a toast to someone who wasn't right there with me.
"Bruce feeds off the positive energy," Jeff reminded.
Today should have been Jeff's 40th birthday. The pain in my heart is horrific as I write that sentence, yet there is something pulling me back to areas North of the Roadside Carnival where I store my hurt and self-pity.
Because I want to raise a glass and feed a little of the positive energy and I'll do it too, later today, free of the coaxing to do something that Jeff had to talk me into doing. He was unbelievable at that...the devil on my shoulder...making me have a little fun.
As the sadness threatens to overwhelm me on a day like today, I listen for his voice in my ear, coaxing, laughing, chiding, prodding, planning, scheming, and laughing some more.
The voice rings loud and clear as he makes fun of me for being sad.
"What's wroooooong with you?" He'd ask. "Have a little fun."
So, shot and a beer and a million wish you were here's.
Avoid the carnival. Hell, raise one for Bruce as well. Jeff missed his toast this year.
There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor. I've packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm. Going to be a twister that blows everything down that ain't got the faith to stand it's ground.
Happy Birthday, brother. I still have your back.
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