Do you ever have one of those days where you should have stayed in bed? There are times when I begin to believe I was having one of those days on March 10, 1970. Yeah. It’s my birthday today. In fact, today is the 40TH anniversary of my official introduction to this great big ball of dirt we call home and its interesting cast of characters.
I arrived at 1:55 in the morning after staying a month past my lease expiration and weighed in at a respectable nine pounds and ten ounces. At least, that’s if you believe mom’s story. She was under the influence of mind numbing pain and narcotics at the time. So, I’m not sure I’d put too much stock in her recollection as it’s undoubtedly been compromised. Dad’s story is a little more subdued than that; but, considering the fact that he passes out at the mere mention of the word BLOOD, he’s not exactly the star witness for the prosecution either.
40 years ago today my mother was shouting “IT’S ABOUT $^&^**(()$#@@@!@ TIME!!!!!” and “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??” at dad while grabbing his bottom lip (go listen to some old Bill Cosby or Carol Burnett for that reference) in between demands for painkillers. That’s MY story, and I’m stickin’ to it.
Do you know what I have to say about turning 40? BIG FAT HAIRY DEAL! That’s what. I don’t feel any different despite the fact that, going back for the last several years now, anytime I go near a doctor they try to tell me now’s the time for me to start getting those regular prostate exams. I don’t think so. Not likely to happen anytime soon. Unlike my father in law, I can still sleep through the night without getting up to take a trip to the toilet. In the mean time, my butt is an exit only zone thank you very much.
Besides, I had a prostate exam when I was sixteen as part of the flight physical to get my student pilot certificate. No one had warned me which I think was intentional. Imagine my surprise when the doctor snapped on that latex glove with the axel grease all over it. So, now at least, I have it on good authority that my prostate is in there somewhere and isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
In the meantime, I still have to get up, go to work and earn a living. In short, it’s the same stuff, just a different day. I have survived the past 14,610 days (plus or minus a few leap days) more or less intact which I consider an accomplishment.
So, here’s to hoping I will survive the next 40 years more or less intact. Just don’t expect me to be sober doing it.