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I was born at 0137hrs on 4 July 1966. Yes, inconvenient from the start! I was also about 30 days past the initial due date estimated by my mom's obstetrician. My own personal sit-in, I suppose.
People always comment on how "cool" my birthday is. It isn't. I'll start with the family issue first. On 4 July 1971, my sister Ann was born in the afternoon. This interrupted the finishing of my birthday cake, which is Capital. Felony. Treason. in my opinion. Sharing a birthday with a sibling is never easy, and Halford bless my parents for trying their best to make sure we each enjoyed our own day.
But then there are the other factors. Families have plans for July 4th. So organizing a party is a nightmare. Your entire day is overwhelmed by the massive national celebration of Independence Day. Ann and I would trade who got the actual day, one of us getting the choice of dinner on the 4th and the other taking the 3rd or the 5th. Inevitably, one of us would choose tacos, and the other would choose a whole turkey done on the Weber with all the trimmings. In July.
So as I grew, I became disassociated from the importance of my birthday. It's an arbitrary date that I happened to be born on. Once I was in the Army, I stopped even mentioning my birthday and never really celebrated it in any real way. It reached the point where being reminded of my birthday felt toxic. Social media only made things worse.
A big part of my depression is feeling I'm not good enough to have friends. I've mentioned this to my therapist, and I can't understand why anyone would like me. But this year, partly due to therapy, I decided to take a chance.
The Giants are playing the Mariners tomorrow, and my mom and I will be there. This is the first time in a long time that the G-men have been playing at home on my birthday. Initially, it was supposed to be Kirsten and me going to the game, but she is too wrung out from cancer treatments to handle it.
That's the real bitch about cancer. Usually, you can't feel it, but the treatment lays you out flat.
So, I'm looking forward to that, and I even got up the nerve to post my Amazon wish list. The response, honestly, has given me all the emotions from "I really have friends" to the depths of "they are humoring me because I'm pathetic."
So, tomorrow is my 57th birthday. Pretty good for a guy with a 60% chance of seeing 30, right?
People always comment on how "cool" my birthday is. It isn't. I'll start with the family issue first. On 4 July 1971, my sister Ann was born in the afternoon. This interrupted the finishing of my birthday cake, which is Capital. Felony. Treason. in my opinion. Sharing a birthday with a sibling is never easy, and Halford bless my parents for trying their best to make sure we each enjoyed our own day.
But then there are the other factors. Families have plans for July 4th. So organizing a party is a nightmare. Your entire day is overwhelmed by the massive national celebration of Independence Day. Ann and I would trade who got the actual day, one of us getting the choice of dinner on the 4th and the other taking the 3rd or the 5th. Inevitably, one of us would choose tacos, and the other would choose a whole turkey done on the Weber with all the trimmings. In July.
So as I grew, I became disassociated from the importance of my birthday. It's an arbitrary date that I happened to be born on. Once I was in the Army, I stopped even mentioning my birthday and never really celebrated it in any real way. It reached the point where being reminded of my birthday felt toxic. Social media only made things worse.
A big part of my depression is feeling I'm not good enough to have friends. I've mentioned this to my therapist, and I can't understand why anyone would like me. But this year, partly due to therapy, I decided to take a chance.
The Giants are playing the Mariners tomorrow, and my mom and I will be there. This is the first time in a long time that the G-men have been playing at home on my birthday. Initially, it was supposed to be Kirsten and me going to the game, but she is too wrung out from cancer treatments to handle it.
That's the real bitch about cancer. Usually, you can't feel it, but the treatment lays you out flat.
So, I'm looking forward to that, and I even got up the nerve to post my Amazon wish list. The response, honestly, has given me all the emotions from "I really have friends" to the depths of "they are humoring me because I'm pathetic."
So, tomorrow is my 57th birthday. Pretty good for a guy with a 60% chance of seeing 30, right?