In reality, I was only dimly aware of the coming date. It was Sunday-- 2 days before the 24th-- when I really recognized that I'd be a year older soon, and I had to perform a mental calculation to determine what my age was going to be. I had to confirm it with a calculator... and then reconfirm it. I guess I really don't mind 37. I'm just glad that the infant/toddler method of age declaration isn't used at this stage of life. Can you imagine my mom telling everyone, "Cade turned 444 months old today"?
Suffice it to say, my birthday has become just another box on the calendar. I get about as excited for my birthday as I do for the "Talk Like A Grizzled Prospector Day" which, incidentally, also occurs on January 24th. I tip my hat to the weird-o's in California, all 124 of them, that actually celebrate their Gold Rush heritage in such a manner.
Thinking the "Talk Like A Grizzled Prospector Day" was about as bad as it could get, I had to look up October 1st-- my wife's birthday-- to see if I could find something worse. I needed a self-esteem boost. Thank goodness I did: October 1st is "International Day of Older Persons" Day. Once the thrill of her birthdays pass, we can slowly and rather smoothly transition into celebration of this more fitting occasion. I felt a little better with this added nugget of knowledge.
Thirty seven years is quite a long time... something that, just a few years ago, I couldn't imagine myself seeing. But, when you consider that the #1 song on the Billboard when I was born was a song actually performed by The Carpenters, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that I'm "getting up there". A few more trips around the sun and I'll start shuffling when I walk, demanding free handouts at Costco, talking incessantly about my devolving health, and changing into white shoes with Velcro ties. My only hope is that I'll be able to keep my teeth-- chance bet that I'll still have my hair.
I think I'm taking it all in good stride, though. There is no sense in dreading or fearing what lies ahead. When the gray hairs present themselves, I'm glad I have hair to turn gray. When the back is a bit slower to heal, I'm glad I can walk. When I have to squint a little harder to read things, I'm glad I'm not blind. I'm no George Clooney, so my only hope is that I don't turn into an older version of Carrot Top as the bite of age continues making its presence.
My son Ethan must have sensed my ennui and despondence the night before. To cheer me up, he made me a breakfast sandwich-- an egg and cheese on a hamburger bun-- and stuck it in the fridge for me for the morning of B-day. He was also instrumental in making sure I had a homemade cake, and took the time to add his own personal touches to the decorating thereof.
So, I begin Round #38 around the sun. I'll be a bit older then, so will my wife and kids, yet somehow I think, when it comes full circle, we'll be smiling around some cake again trying to keep our eyes open for the camera flash.
