Humor by John Christmann
In The Present
I celebrated a routine, insignificant birthday a while ago. Which means those close to me cheerfully acknowledged what I already knew: I had turned another year older. Still, I was happy that my family thought once again to recognize the anniversary of my entry into the world, even though it was before they were born.
I am not sure when it was, but at some point I started to acknowledge my own special day with a little less fanfare and a little more indulgence in wistfulness. It was probably after that birthday party where I received black balloons and a monumental hangover.
Now on my birthday I reluctantly submit to lost vanities like hair, the spring in my Nikes, and shadows passing as muscle tone. For a few seconds I reflect on my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonder when it was I moved into a Fun House.
And then I recover and live blissfully on, content that on my birthday nothing has changed significantly from the day before.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Maybe this is true for unfortunate Alzheimer’s patients, but not for me. I didn’t celebrate all those birthdays only to erase them by waking up in the morning. What does this say about what I accomplished yesterday? And how am I supposed to go to sleep at night knowing that my previous life is about to end?
No, to me birthdays are a gift-wrapped reminder of where we have been yesterday and where we will be tomorrow. With a little optimism and a lot of hard work there will be some improvement in between. And if we are really lucky, maybe some cake and ice cream.
My daughter thoughtfully asked me what I wanted for my birthday. As corny as it sounds, I really have everything I want.
I thought about it a minute, then told her I wanted a midlife crisis. She was puzzled until I explained that as a contented father of a great family I had somehow been cheated out of self-indulgent hair plugs and a fire-engine red Lamborghini.
Finally, I told her I wanted a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese with lots of screaming kids. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.
I didn’t make it easy for her and she stopped asking after that.
My two sons told me they were going to give me something really special for my birthday; but they can’t keep a secret. I didn’t even know they made Whoopee Cushions anymore.
Stop and smell the roses.
My wife tells me this whenever I run frantically to nowhere, usually late, usually in a huff. I give her some snarky reply like, I don’t like thorns up my nose, or I would, but roses don’t grow in the car, or when life is no bed of roses, does that mean I should stop and smell the gym socks too?
It’s a wonder she puts up with me.
On my birthday she cheerfully served me a moist, sinful cake by the firelight of too many tiny candles to count while the kids sang. I closed my eyes and took in the colorful tune and the chocolaty aroma. I could smell faint perfume too. It was wonderful.
And then, just like that, I puffed all the sparkly candles out. Another birthday expired.
And then, just like that, the candles relit again.
I made a birthday wish several times before I was finally able to fully extinguish the trick candles. I probably should have wished for greater lung capacity, but instead I wished for something else.
I would tell you what it is, but then it wouldn’t come true.
Today’s moments are tomorrow’s memories.
Today is the day of days. It is my father’s birthday. You may be thinking, “Wow, he must be having such a great birthday. His life is probably filled with happiness and rainbows and butterflies and unicorns and other awesome things!”
Well if you are thinking that, you’re weird because unicorns don’t exist. You see, my Dad was born on Friday the 13th, which isn’t that surprising since almost everything he touches blows up. KABOOMIE!
But that day can be lucky too. And I am lucky to have such a great dad who is caring, funny, and smart. And I love him, even if he sometimes blows up unicorns.
This was the handmade card my daughter gave to me on my birthday. Well into the future it will lie secure in a metal time capsule with other keepsakes so that I may enjoy it again and again on the first day of the rest of my life, which, like my birthday, I hope will be a recurring event.
Because a rose by any other name is still a rose. And I know one when I smell one.
© 2011 Dadinthebox.com