Skip to main content

What!! Another Birthday??


Oh! Another birthday has come and gone. An annual rite of passage. A remembrance 
of the day when I made my arduous passage through the birth canal, kicking and screaming. For nine months I was doing fine, floating in my isolation womb. Suddenly, BAM!!!, somebody pulls the plug, the water drains, and I’m out of there.

 My first experience with the world was a forced eviction from my private abode. Hey, it was rent-free, comfortable, quiet and I could suck on my thumb all day. My Mom was my disgruntled landlord who didn’t even have the courtesy to issue an eviction notice. When I started to speak, she got some harsh syllables from me. There was no “Mama or Dada” as my first words. It was more along the line of, “What the hell were you thinking?” Until I could form words, I screamed a lot and peed in everyone’s face. 

 

People wonder why I have anxiety issues? I was yanked head-first into the cold, noisy world and some stranger in scrubs flung me around the room. No wonder I still get jittery near doctors. Could someone have prepared me? I’d heard Mom’s voice for months and she never dropped a hint. What a horrible surprise party. I requested a nipple of vodka.

 

Overall, everyone shares the first moments of life the same way, unless, you’re surgically removed. Then, you’ve gotten to escape being squeezed like a watermelon through a pair of pantyhose. I’ve heard that Caesarean babies always look prettier. Of course, they do. They weren’t born under intense pressure. 

 

No wonder I was wrinkly and looked pissed off. I’d worked like an Appalachian coal miner, just for a first series of bad photos and a stupid skull cap. Put me back, I’ll wait until I have teeth for a perfect smile and I don’t need cucumbers for my puffy eyes. 

 

This trauma is literally our only birthday. When we observe the date going forward, it’s just the anniversary of our arrival. When anyone wishes you a “Happy Birthday,” remind them it isn’t your actual birthday. It’s horrific to imagine experiencing birth again. At this point in life, I’m not traveling in any tunnel I can’t drive through in my car. 

 

After the initial birthday, we’re all on our separate paths. We can grow up celebrating with beautiful cakes, pony rides, face painting, pizza parties or Bobo the clown and his strangely pornographic balloon sculptures. Getting older is an individualized joy ride. 

 

At fifty, I wanted aging to stop. I tried to commiserate about getting older, but people told me, “age is nothing but a number.” Yeah right, it’s the number that tells me how freaking old I am. There’s also the wonderful adage – you’re only as old as you feel. But what if I feel like a wrinkled, hairless cat? 

 

I hate when someone asks “How old are you?” If I’m in a good mood I usually say “I’m between Pampers and Depends.” I really prefer not to belabor the topic so I’ve come up with some zingers that usually shut down the conversation. They’re very handy to use when you’re feeling like your birth certificate looks like the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Here are replies when someone asks how old you are:

 

·      I’m so old the only Da Vinci Code I know is the one to his locker.

·      I’m so old I knew Moses when the ‘burning bush’ was just a medical condition.

·      I’m so old I remember New Spice.

·      I’m so old I was around for the first Madonna, and she was a virgin.

·      I’m so old my first Christmas parade was three kings and a drummer boy.

·      I’m so old I told Shakespeare his new play was much ado about nothing. 

 

As every anniversary of my birthday arrives, I’m still kicking and screaming like it’s my debut. Growing older has made me wiser. I know if I really work hard I can slow down my internal clock. I’m trying to undo the process, by reversing my treadmill. Running backwards is not a natural motion, so I keep being flung off. To say, I’ve hit a wall, is literally true. At this age it’s all about the number, and that’s 911!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

Recent Posts

Waking Up in Vegas - Happy 2014!

Neither, Gary or I, are really gamblers, so we try to find other activities to occupy our time when visiting Vegas. We have visited Red Rock, Hoover Dam and Valley of Fire State Park on previous visits. We had even traveled as far as Zion National Park in Utah, during an earlier stay. There are definitely natural beauties to discover while in Nevada, and they have nothing to do with showgirls or stripper poles. This visit was about relaxation and ringing in the New Year, so we didn’t need to stray far from Vegas this time. We bought tickets for a concert featuring Kristin Chenoweth. She is a very talented singer and actress best known from Broadway shows, movies, and multiple guest appearances on GLEE. The concert was on New Year’s Eve at the newly built Smith Center. Although she is about three feet tall, Kristin has a powerhouse voice. She sang songs from her career and, of course, sang one of my favorites “For Good” from WICKED. It was a great way to

Mental Health - Destroy the Stigma

I believe that I am a fearless writer. I share my personal experiences, thoughts and beliefs. I’ve not been afraid to express my emotions. Self-expression is fundamental to writing. I am a man of my words Recently, I became concerned that my blogs about depression and mental health might shape my reader’s opinions of me in a negative way.   The more I thought about it, I realized that I had internalized the stigma that surrounds mental health. Stigma is defined as “a mark of disgrace or infamy.” The word bears a negative connotation and it devalues the person to whom the stigma is applied. While the conversation about mental health is receiving a larger forum, damaging misconceptions are widespread. According to surveys, there are between 42.5-46 million adults in the US that have some type of mental illness.   Statistics show that one in four adults experience mental illness in a given year. These numbers of individuals are all impacted in some manner by the sti

Summer Adventures Part 2 – The Backyard Backlot to Broadway

  My childhood summers weren’t all the glitz and glamor of vacationing with cousins, wobbly shopping carts and bloody feet. Actually, most of my summer days were spent right at home in my yard. My parents never took a vacation. Our family never packed its bags and took off for other ports of call.   I never boarded a plane, a boat, or a train for a family adventure. My adventures were self-created. They were products of an imaginative mind that could travel to the moon, ride the rapids in the Amazon Jungle and lead a battle for the Knights of the Round Table, all before a lunch of Spaghettios with a side of Hawaiian Punch . I have always loved going to the movies. This helped provide the inspiration to my over active mind. The Saturday afternoon matinee was a childhood staple for me. The smell of fresh popcorn as you entered the lobby and the crisp cold air of the air-conditioned theater helped set the atmosphere on those hot, summer afternoons. I would get lost in the dark with

Depression, Drugs & DNA

When diagnosed with Clinical Depression, my doctor recommended medication to help the illness. The art of medication management can challenge professionals who need to find the right drug and dosage that will be effective for treatment. It’s frustrating for patients combating the effects of depression when their medication doesn’t quite alleviate the symptoms. Part of this cocktail of drugs can also cause intolerable side effects ·       Sleepiness ·       Insomnia ·       Dizziness ·       Weight Gain ·       Headaches ·       Increased Anxiety ·       Sexual Problems ·       Nausea The feeling of hopelessness and frustration is just compounded when you’re waiting for relief that never really arrives. There are so many drugs available for the treatment of depression. It can be daunting to find the right one for you. I feel that I have taken the PDR of depression medications. There’s always been the chase for the one that would tu

Communication - The Art of Words

I read a posting, a few weeks ago, that the song “Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode was celebrating its 25 th anniversary. The song, released in 1990, speaks of how you can be beyond words. It relays the message that there are times when words can’t describe feelings or emotions and seem inconsequential. I do understand when people say that something is “indescribable.” We all have moments when we just want silence and time to appreciate the world beyond words.   A feeling or an emotion can be hard to verbalize at times, but are we ever beyond words? We have to realize that if we want a space of non-communication we have to communicate that. We can’t “Enjoy the Silence” unless we can tell everyone we want silence.   For people to know we are at a loss for words, we have to tell them that. Everything we say and do lies in communication. We could not function as a community or a society without it. We don’t stop to contemplate that our whole world is created fro