A Birthday Lament
When I turned 25, I was excited about my second quarter century of life. After all, I spent 25 years growing from an immobile, inarticulate, drooling person who frequently messed in their clothes to a walking, talking individual who could drool on purpose at any time (or by accident if a really pretty girl walked by). At that time, I planned to reach my 50th year having made a name for myself, achieved that millionaire status and able to live the high life.
In a couple days, I will reach that half-century mark. My biggest accomplishments have been my three beautiful and intelligent children, my excellent friends and recently finding the love of a beautiful woman and her children. Actually, they aren’t accomplishments. I’m just the lucky recipient of their love. Aside from that and not being homeless or imprisoned, I’m hard-pressed to find other achievements for celebrating a second 25 years. As for being a millionaire, my now former spouse ended up spending two dollars for every dollar that I made. It took me a couple of decades to realize that there is a fine line between being a gentleman and being a doormat. Which means, if nothing else, I now have 25 additional years worth of experiences on how not to live life.
At my 25th birthday, I was excited about living the next quarter-century because of what I’ve accomplished in the first. On the eve of my 50th birthday, I find myself disillusioned and unenthusiastic about the next quarter-century of my life because of past years filled with regrets, stupid decisions and reprehensible mistakes. I’m pretty sure there won’t be a national holiday filled with parades and half-priced sales in my honor.
In the past, I was saddened if friends or family would accidentally overlook my birthday. This year, I will be very content if the entire world forgets that I’ve circled the sun 50 times without dying. Actually, I’m not 50. More like $39.95 with lots of shipping and handling involved …
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