Boy girl, girl boy, both hoped for ten fingers, ten toes and a smile, even if some suggest Jack yearned non-silently for yet another appendage/digit to insure future bloodlines any healthy issue would be welcome. The years since a royal male child issued forth(3 decades and 3, the age of the great prophet Y'oshua at accession) had brought a drought upon the land. The signs were aligned and with the tragic passing of the first and eternal teen the previous Friday, thrown from a silver spider at the setting of the sun, birth was emminent.
Blah, blah, blah, so I got born and luckily I was a male 'cause no way in heck would I willingly drag Alice around for a first name the rest of my life. Named for Alice's maiden name back in the day Riley was a unique first name shared with very few. Now, every time you turn around somebody uses it willy-nilly, male female, spelled correctly and is more often the case spelled creatively enough to confuse even the most open minded. Reighleigh is one of most otherly spelled I've seen in my years in public edumacation.
For most of my life I shared the joys of the day with my uncle Dan, whose 16th birthday I spoiled. My middle name is Dan and we had a bond that few uncles and nephews had. He was one of my best friends, a role model(not always a positive one, although the bootlegger's turn has served me well when driving near or above the posted speed limit)com padre, teacher, alchemist, master grocer, and reader extraordinaire. In the end I was there when he demonstrated the way of passing I hope to emulate when that time comes. This will be my second birthday w/o him although last night in my dreams he wanted me to tell all my relatives, they should just go ahead and give me the presents they would have given to him.
Other musings- today I am the age my grandfather was when I was born. I never thought of Pump as "old" he was just older than others but not as old "old" as my dad's father. Pump worked everyday, boiled coffee in the morning, listened to the farm report and his two story house with the rock fence and big pecan tree in the yard was the only place I ever felt safe. It was my hideout when things were rough and childhood turned to crap. Growing up in Topeka I wished I had a basement that stretched all the way to Graford so I could ride my trike underground when life with a crazy mom got too crazy.
Thinking that I'm now 59 is such a hoot to me. On one hand I know the facts prove the reality of the situation, yet it seems so ludicrously irrational that I can't really wrap my head about it. Other than all the junk wrong with me health wise I don't feel 59. I remain the loud mouthed smart aleck I was at 12. The difference, I've done more of the cool stuff, been through the bad stuff, but still am just the kid that likes to read, thinks girls are pretty cool, loves movies and books and wishes I could listen to music all the day long.
My greatest motivation for making 60 is that being able to say I'm 60 just seems so damn funny.
Okay, presents are cool too.
