Another Year Gone

Happy Birthday, Dad.
You’re 49 today. That’s one year away from being 50, which I consider over the hill.

I know exactly what you would be doing right now, Dad. You’d be getting up in the next hour or two and getting into your car. You would be in New York all day today so no one could give you presents or throw you a party. You hate presents and birthday parties. At least when they are your own.

But I’m thinking about you more than usual today. Later, as a present for you, I’m going to clean all of your CDs with the CD cleaner I got you for your 44th birthday. It seemed appropriate, at the time. You love your CDs. Even if I think some of them are odd.

Do you think you would feel old right now, Dad? If you were not sick. If you were as healthy as other Dads are.

I don’t think you would.

But you died five years ago. So I wouldn’t really know.

Happy Birthday, Dad.