Now I suspect that were I to put that uniquely notorious (often salacious) number in the "metadata" (key words on blogsites that direct people who are searching for something to better and faster access when they Google...or whatever they doogle) I would receive an avalanche of hits and other stuff which at this point in my life I would have to protest and disown to preserve and protect my domestic tranquility. I'd have to pretend not to enjoy it even if it didn't last for more than four hours. (Ain’t modern medicine a trip?)
I've sort of dreaded this birthday, being that it marks the beginning of the last year in my seventh decade since I was pulled and slapped about five weeks early, as my parent's first offspring, and as it turned out, the only one, on a wintry December afternoon in 1938. Maybe even more than the big Seven-Ohhhh that's 365 days beyond. Those of you old enough to remember that comedian Jack Benny stopped having birthdays when he was 39, although Wikopedia (a term which would have sounded subversive in those days) says he made it to 80. I don't think I want to follow suit because after a year of snickers and asides when I'm asked about my age and answer truthfully.
I like to think I have the part of my mother's DNA that took her to 98 years, three months and about ten days. (She really wanted to reach the century mark, and I told everyone when she passed in 2004 that if we counted as folks in some cultures do from presumed date of conception, she made it past 99, and the Good Lord lets you round-up when you reach that plateau.) But sometimes when I see the projections by Alan Greenspan, Al Gore, and others concerning this-or-that by 2038, I don't know.
Maybe by that time the saying will be that "100 is the new 50". Maybe not.
In any event, unless I take the Jack Benny option, I will observe exactly half of my life as an open part of the LGBT community. When I turned 40 I was preocuppied with what had happened to Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy and what I thought might be the coming apart of the country because of the confluence of anti-Vietnam War sentiment and the civil rights movement. A year later the Stonewall riots happened and Lance Armstrong set a first human foot on the moon (I think his first name was Lance; or was it Neil...maybe it my old Marine buddy Lance Corporal. I was the father of twin boys added to two daughters.
Now, as I do my usual last-minute agonizing over what my grandchildren want for Christmas, and wonder where (not if....I'm pretty sure) my other half is going to take me for dinner this evening, I feel pretty good about where I've journeyed in the company of both my LGBT brothers and sisters as well as friends and family. That almost blots out any anxiety over reaching well, you know, that numbered birthday.
But please spare me those raunchy cards.....I think the mailman peeks through thin envelopes. If you just have to, post a comment, please. The extra resulting web traffic makes Browning and Blaze think there's cake around. Perhaps even candles.
In suitable plain brown wrapper, of course.