Another year

As I’ve gotten older it’s become kind of an odd experience celebrating my own birthday because it’s just not a big deal to me anymore; it seems to be more meaningful to the rest of my family. My sons took me out to dinner a few nights ago since this year my birthday happens to fall on the same day as the Super Bowl, which means all the restaurants will be packed. They’re making me dinner tonight and we made cinnamon rolls last night instead of a cake. I’m trying to be cheerful and upbeat so as not to ruin the day for the kids, but it’s tough. I’ll get calls from my mom, dad, and sister. I don’t get to talk often enough with my sister, so it’s always a treat talking to her. My mom and I e-mail and talk regularly. Talking to my dad is kind of awkward; it always has been and always will be. I am looking forward to dinner tonight and having both the kids at home, but then tomorrow it’s back to reality. I usually tend to reflect back on the previous year and the overall state of my life, but I think I’ll definitely avoid doing that this year. I don’t seem to recall much about my birthday last year, which is kind of strange. I know we went out to dinner, but I can’t even recall where. I have more memories from celebrating my son’s birthdays than I do my own, but I suspect that’s the case for most parents. Or maybe I’m just getting old and forgetful. Time marches on, whether we want it to or not.