Happy Birthday (Yeah, right)

Forty-nine years and nine months ago, my mom and dad fornicated. It was only the third time they ever had sex and I have a brother and sister to prove it. Okay, maybe they did it on their honeymoon out of curiosity, so that's four times. But that's it. In their generation sex was to procreate, not a recreational activity.

Every birthday I ask myself, "Why am I getting all the glory?" It's not like I had a say in the matter or had anything to do with it. I was just a passenger at the time and a by-product as a result.

If anyone should be celebrating it should be them. People should be giving my parents gifts (or hate mail) for what they've done. Why do people say Happy Birthday to me when they should be saying "Nice shot, Mr. Casey" to my dad. It's like giving credit to the model for just standing there when they should be addressing the artist for what (s)he created.

I went to a birthday party a while back for Hubert who was celebrating ninety years on planet earth. When it was announced, everyone applauded. I thought, "What the hell did he do?" He managed to avoid getting run over by a bus for nine decades but I fail to see how being born is worthy of being congratulated.

I do love hillbilly sayings and metaphors. They're so colorful and flamboyant. I heard a hick cutting another guy down once and he told him "Your daddy shoulda shot you in a hankie." Once I got it, I laughed. I thought later how close any of us could have come to being non-existent by such a fate. All it takes is a lonely night without a mate and that could be the fortune for any of us. Perhaps that's what inspires the urge to celebrate.

Then there's the agitating question of "What do you what for your birthday?" I already know the budget question is worth about twenty bucks. That being the case, if there was something I wanted in that price range I would already have it. Yes, I please myself the other 364 days and don't wait for permission to be extravagant for something I don't really need anyway.

The only birthdays that held any significance for me were eighteen and twenty-one. Turning legal to do certain things were momentous occasions and worthy of celebrating as I passed a milestone. These days I'm more likely to pass a mild stone.