So many people in my life are celebrating birthdays at this time of year.  Children enjoy celebrating their birthdays.  Especially when it means devouring their Dairy Queen ice cream cake and making off like a bandit with dozens of retail gift cards and cold hard cash.  However, as we get older, some people absolutely refuse to even acknowledge the anniversary of their own birth.

On this day, ten years ago, my son Zoon Gaabow was born.  

Griffin was born very early in the morning.  Although I usually don’t like going without sleep, that day was a particularly happy one.

As I recall, all three of my children were born late in the night.  All were very big babies – well over nine pounds each.  Miigwans arrived weighing 13 pounds 14 ounces.  (Delivered by c-section obviously.)

We had a great birthday party for Griffin on Saturday.  Arnya rented the pool.  Deb and I brought the cake and the loot bags.  We had a great time swimming and playing dodgeball in the pool.  It’s always a good day when you can beam someone else’s kid in the head with a plastic ball.

However, not everyone appreciates, acknowledges or enjoys celebrating their birthday.  Milestone birthdays especially tend to rub some people the wrong way.

I remember when my Mom turned 50.  Junior and I were only little kids then.  I remember telling my Mom that I was amazed she was really a “half century old”.  I don’t remember if she appreciated hearing that or not.

Another of those magic numbers is the big old 4-0.  (I mean, the “not so old” 4-0.)

Perhaps it’s distressing to know you are on the back-nine of life.  To realized that when you are actually playing the back-nine, you most definitely need a power card.  To realize that there are probably more days behind you, than there are ahead.

How many people have tried to go the whole day without telling anyone it’s your birthday?  This is a trick many men try.  In reality, it becomes a whole paranoid game wondering who might remember, who might call, who might spill the beans.

Some people think birthdays make you feel foolish.  Some will actually go out and make a fool of themselves without provocation.  You see it in bars and taverns each and every weekend.  Others allow friends and family to make a fool out of you, especially when it means wearing a helmet affixed with antlers, while a restaurant staff sing cheerleading anthems to you.

Really, when it comes to age and outlook on life, it’s should be about how young you feel.

I’m 36 years old and sometimes I feel like an old man, especially when I have to rumble down the stairs, stiff as a board, in the middle of the night.  But aside from the occasional diabetic anomoly or gastric-intestinal event, I usually feel pretty darn good.

Quoting Billy Crystal:  “It’s better to look good than to feel good.”

It must be something to feel cougarific though, init?  I think women in their mid to late thirties and into their forties are inherently gorgeous.  Especially if they’re a bit curvy, dress well and take care of themselves.

One of my Facebook friends swears she couldn’t remember how old she was.  Perhaps legitimate, perhaps not.  There are times when I occasionally forget how old I am, thinking I’m still 35 or 34.  In most cases, however, people at our age tend to adopt the obligatory holding pattern.  Especially when questioned about your age.

Fortunately, it’s no longer politically correct to ask someone their age.  It has been relegated to the realm of gossippy speculation, like someones questionable marital situation or sexuality.

Life would be a whole lot simpler if we were all wearing a badge that provides this information:

– Heterosexual, but why should that matter to you anyway (See below)
– In a relationship.  Actually, married but separated.  It’s actually pretty complicated.
– 35 and holding.

“Darlings…  you look marvelous.”