Birthday Blues

I really don’t like my birthday much anymore.
I’m not really sure why, it used to be fun.
(I think it used to be fun.)
As I got older, it got less meaningful.
Is there that much difference between 52 and 53?

When you’re young, you’re the center of attention.
As you age, your kids are there,
Then your grandkids join in,
And, face it, they outrank you.
Plus, now you’re paying for your own parties sometimes.

Unfortunately, I was born the day after taxes are due,
So, once I got married (and divorced and remarried),
I had just spent three to five weekends or more
Calculating how little money we had and how much we had spent.
Worrying about wives and kids spending too much on you
Will always take much of the joy out of presents.

Also, presents get more expensive over time.
A Hot Wheels Lamborghini costs a lot less than a real one.
Not that anyone is ever going to buy me a real one.
Or even a Smart car.
(Mom-in-law did buy me a remote-control Mustang once. She was cool.)

What do you want for your birthday?
“A pony! A pony!” says someone under fifteen.
Over forty, it becomes something like:
“I would like to finally be out of debt. ” or
“I would like  my tests to be negative.”

Growing old can be really hard,
I suppose that’s why we still celebrate birthdays.
Even if they also make you think of the ones you’ve lost.
You realize someday you might be older than your relatives,
Because they’ve stopped aging.
(Stopping aging may be worse than birthdays.)

I’m having cake later today (I’m told), and
I commit to do my best to be non-grumpy,
But I’m not promising anything.
After all, I’m old. And grumpy.

I will say this –
After this year,  if everyone decides to skip my birthday,
Or move to once-per-decade celebrations,
Or just post insincere “Happy Birthday” notes on Facebook,
I’m down with that.

At least the taxes are done.