Happy Birthday to Me
Forty-freaking-eight-years old.
Some days I feel as if I'm 72.
Yet the birthday is a weird thing, isn't it? Whenever you hear the date you sort of think:
"Hey, that's my day! The world should stop for a moment and recognize it as such."
Yet when I really think about it, I can't recall the exact circumstances of too many of my birthday celebrations.
I remember turning ten years old and only because I was playing Little Loop football at the time and I absolutely hated it and on that particular day we had an away game.
Sitting on a bus and then sitting on a bench all for the sheer thrill of eating three orange slices at halftime wasn't my idea of fun.
Then I recall my 18th birthday because that was when I could legally drink. My buddy, Jeff Renaldo, and the crew at Speedy's led by Eddie got me absolutely hammered on shots of tequila.
My college buddies also got me pretty good that year as well.
My head still hurts.
At 30 they threw a surprise party for me at my buddy John's house. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Weird moment because despite the fact that the place was packed with family and friends I had no idea why they all gathered.
Fun was had by all.
At 40 my wife threw a party for me and the Yankees beat the living hell out of the Red Sux - 19 to 8 - to take a 3-0 lead in the ALCS.
They went on to lose the next 4 games and the series so that one is slightly diminished.
And what to expect at 48?
Not much, I suppose because you see I have all a man can ask for. It's been a good ride so far. My kids get a kick out of the fact that a couple of years ago I worked and then made their dinner and then as we were eating I asked if there was a chance that just one of them might say 'Happy Birthday.'
They had all forgotten.
48 more to go.
By that time I'll feel like I'm about 132 when I'll only really be 96.
As my Dad said:
I want to live until I'm 99 and be accused of rape.
In other words, empty the tank.
Whether it's your day or not.
Some days I feel as if I'm 72.
Yet the birthday is a weird thing, isn't it? Whenever you hear the date you sort of think:
"Hey, that's my day! The world should stop for a moment and recognize it as such."
Yet when I really think about it, I can't recall the exact circumstances of too many of my birthday celebrations.
I remember turning ten years old and only because I was playing Little Loop football at the time and I absolutely hated it and on that particular day we had an away game.
Sitting on a bus and then sitting on a bench all for the sheer thrill of eating three orange slices at halftime wasn't my idea of fun.
Then I recall my 18th birthday because that was when I could legally drink. My buddy, Jeff Renaldo, and the crew at Speedy's led by Eddie got me absolutely hammered on shots of tequila.
My college buddies also got me pretty good that year as well.
My head still hurts.
At 30 they threw a surprise party for me at my buddy John's house. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Weird moment because despite the fact that the place was packed with family and friends I had no idea why they all gathered.
Fun was had by all.
At 40 my wife threw a party for me and the Yankees beat the living hell out of the Red Sux - 19 to 8 - to take a 3-0 lead in the ALCS.
They went on to lose the next 4 games and the series so that one is slightly diminished.
And what to expect at 48?
Not much, I suppose because you see I have all a man can ask for. It's been a good ride so far. My kids get a kick out of the fact that a couple of years ago I worked and then made their dinner and then as we were eating I asked if there was a chance that just one of them might say 'Happy Birthday.'
They had all forgotten.
48 more to go.
By that time I'll feel like I'm about 132 when I'll only really be 96.
As my Dad said:
I want to live until I'm 99 and be accused of rape.
In other words, empty the tank.
Whether it's your day or not.
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