So im 31.
Everyone says it every single year on every single birthday...My birthday just isnt as exciting as it used to be!! That is..until you hit 23, and then you just hope you can get the day off work.
So Ive decided to spend this time on my birthday, reflecting on how great it USED to be
When I was 13, my dad and I made a chain out of construction paper, and hung it from my doorknob. We usually made it about 3 weeks ahead of time, so the chain would have 21 or so links. Every morning, I would get out of bed and run to the doorknob to rip off a chain link. I was so stupid that at one point I actually ripped off extra links thinking it would be my birthday faster.
Next thing you know, Im sitting in a Special Ed Math class, with kids wearing bibs and clapping for no reason, because mom doesnt think I can count to ONE.
Now that I look back, I wonder what I was so excited about. And Im not trying to be a crank about it, Im just saying, what was it about that special day that was so much fun I could trickle some pee just thinking about it.
Obviously the gifts. Which are totally different than what a 13 year old gets today (you know, a new battery for their cell phone, a memory stick for their Sony Handi-cam, a trip to Destin for Spring Break, etc) Back then, a new toy was more exciting to me than Circumcision Day at school, which was always a hoot!
I freaking LOVED toys. Toys were crack cocaine. I would sniff new toys and get high as a kite. I loved the metallic taste of licking a Hot Wheel car about as much as I loved my birthday cake. And we arent talking about XBOX games or ping-pong tables here. We are talking about toys from aisle 11 at Walmart, right beside the towering rubber roped cage of giant, bright pink, plastic bouncy balls. And while im on that subject...am i the only one who STILL TO THIS DAY cannot walk past the giant bouncy balls without picking one up, dribbling it twice, and tossing it up 25 feet in the air hoping to swish it back into the cage, only to have it reflect off the side, knocking down a small child and that lifesize cardboard statue of Shaquille O'Neal eating Dorito's, while i chase it like a 4 year old maniac, with the entire store looking on?
But really...I craved toys...I mean, I actually got in a fight with a kid at school once because he threw away his broken Etch-A-Sketch, and I went and grabbed it out of the trash, claiming it was mine!!! It was horribly scratched up, had dirty stickers all over it, and one of the little white wheels had fallen off leaving a small sharp blade that sliced your finger open when you wanted to draw a vertical line. Plus there were some black metal beads (looked like hard rabbit poop) leaking from the crack in the bottom. But it was a free toy, so I went for it!!! Dug right into the school trash can. (which by the way ALWAYS smelled like pencil sharpenings) Needless to say, when the kid saw me holding HIS broken Etch-a-Sketch, of course he suddenly changed his mind. I dont know if he thought I was going to race home and fix it into a new and better Etch-a Sketch, or he just didnt like that white boy touching his ****.
Wow, we had some tough kids back at Martin Luther King Jr Middle School
But that was the thing. I wanted toys. So that birthday was extremely important.
That year I got a Mike Tyson punching bag, a bag of quarters, a baseball glove from Target that had no name brand, and a bright orange shirt (that was one size too small) with a really stiff collar that for some reason I decided to wear on YEARBOOK PICTURE DAY.
By the way, if you've ever played baseball or owned a glove, you know the difference in a cheap Target glove and a nice one. The cheap Target ones are REALLY stiff, almost plastic, and when you try to wear them in, so that it doesnt feel like a cast, they sometimes actually break into pieces. You can also tell which kids in a little league game are wearing these gloves, by the way that the ball bounces off of the center of their gloves as if they are intentionally swatting it away. You see, in order to catch a baseball, you have to be able to CLINCH your hand. Its a tricky maneuver, but important none-the-less.
The other reason I can come up with as to explain why my birthday was so important, is that pretty much every year mom would invite all of my friends over at one time for my birthday party. I can only remember this because Ive seen the pictures. There is one common theme to all of the these birthday photographs. There's a bunch of little kids with glistening snot in their noses standing around trying to touch my new stuff. And then there is me, holding up my new Micro Machine, with that look in my eye, thinking, Seriously, none of you are going to touch my crap. And who the heck are you? Youre like 9 years old man. Get outta here. Mom who invited the black neighbor kid?
The funniest part would probably be all the inappropriate things Im sure I blurted out (as kids tend to do when they want all the attention), during my party.
MOM, Tracy
Stephens using my new baseball glove as a bicycle helmet!!!!
When can my party be over?
Why is Stephens dads bellybutton hanging out below his shirt?
Gramma just licked down my eyebrow again!
Its MY birthday, and Im NOT putting my pants back on!
These quarters smell like Granddads sock drawer.
Stephen just knocked out Dad with my baseball glove
Granddad, are you really too old to blow up my Mike Tyson punching bag like Mom said?
Those were the good old days. When August the 6th was like a national holiday to me. I was eleven years old before I found out that NOT EVERYONE IN THE WORLD celebrated this special day as well as me.
This year I didnt realize it was even near my birthday until August the 4th. And then all I could think about is that my drivers license is going to expire. My birthday is actually going to COST me $100.
Plus Im THIRTY ONE years old.
Seriously, 31 is old. Its so old, that NO ONE reading this is going to argue with me about it. The best compliment Ive heard so far is, Its not THAT bad. I mean, I'm not thirty, I am INmy thirties. I cant believe there are 18 year old girls out there that think Im a gross old man. Actually there are some 30 year old girls out there that think Im a gross old man, but Im not ready to talk about that yet.
All I know is one thing. August the 6th is MY birthday, and Im NOT putting my pants back on.
Oh, and Grandpa, thanks for the quarters again this year. They smell great!
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