The art of surviving your birthday.

Do you remember when you were a kid and the only day better than Christmas was your birthday? And the reason for that was because, unlike Christmas where you got toys that you HAD to share with your stupid brother and your sister always received TWICE as many presents as you did (Because she was a girl and your single mom LOVED shopping for girl stuff.), on your birthday the presents were ALL for you. Which meant that your brother and sister could just suck it!  Hah!

Or was that just me?

Well anyhow at some point in your life, after you have passed all of the big milestones like turning thirteen and FINALLY becoming a teenager, and turning sixteen and finally getting your driver's license, and turning eighteen and knowing you were now an adult and the other adults had to treat you like a peer (Except your parents who never seemed to get that memo.), and then turning twenty-one and finally being able to legally drink in a bar, you kind of stop anticipating your birthdays and start dreading them. And the further away from the beginning of your life you get, while slowly inching closer to the end, the more birthdays become something you simply have to endure. 

Kind of like getting a prostate exam, only without the foreplay.

So yesterday for my fifty first birthday I treated it like I was on a damaged aircraft hurtling toward earth.  I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, but I just hoped that once it happened I could walk away from it with all of my body parts still intact. Which is essentially how I have felt about most of my birthdays since around the age of thirty five or so.

However this year I have my daughter living with me. And she had her own ideas.

My daughter felt that I should do something fun and memorable. Which, oddly enough, in her mind meant I needed to get a tattoo. Yes, you read that right, a tattoo.

Are you asking why?  Yeah I did that as well.

As it turned out there really wasn't what one could characterize as a good reason. Not to say she didn't try.

"Because Dad, just think how cool it would be."

Yeah, do YOU know what is cool when you are fifty-one?

Getting out of bed without making that old man noise your dad used to make.

Having a pretty girl look at you in the gym with a face that says she thinks you are kind of attractive, and not one that says "Is that my dad?"

Taking your glasses off for a second and being able to find them without having to go get your back up pair first.

Getting a new tattoo was nowhere, and I mean NOWHERE,  on my list.

"Are you offering to pay for it?" I asked.

"Well no, but I would totally help you pick it out.  Hey we could get one together! Oooh we could get the SAME one!"

Matching tattoos with my daughter?  No that is not cool, that is creepy.

"Are you paying for yours?" I asked, already knwiing the answer.

"Well no, but you could pay for it because you LOVE me, and it would be so cool to both have the same tattoo.  Don't you think?"

No I didn't actually, and I told her so. Needless to say my birthday ended with no, hard to explain to new girlfriends,  father/daughter matching tattoos.

Instead my daughter, now disappointed in her father's complete lack of "cool," went off to run errands.

Good.  Peace and quiet is EXACTLY what I wanted on my birthday.

Later that night, right before I went to bed, she finally came back home.

"Close your eyes I have a surprise."  Uh oh!

However when I opened them, she had simply placed this on my desk.

"See Dad it it's a coffee cup because you love coffee!  And it has the periodic table on it, because you are so smart, and smart people like that kind of thing.  And it has all kinds of candies with nuts because I remember when I was little that you ate those all of the time. Do you like it?"

"Of course I do. Thank you sweetheart." And then she gave me the REAL present...a hug.

When she left to go watch a movie with friends, I sat staring at the cup full of candies that I have not had any desire to eat in the last fifteen years, and somehow I thought that it was exactly what I wanted.

Not because I needed yet another coffee cup.  Nor because I needed a bunch of candy that I don't ever eat anymore.  But because SHE gave it to me out of love, and having her tell me she loves me is really the only gift that my 51 year old self really wanted this year.  I just did not know it.

But now I do.

So this was not a bad birthday after at all.  I survived with all of my limbs intact, and with a warm feeling in my heart placed there by the most important person in my world.

As my mom would say, "You can't beat it with a stick!"