ben wakeman : : Journal

3 Dozen

February 14, 2006

The BIG 36, treinta y seis, trente-six, Sechsunddreißig or as they say in old Italy: trenta-sei. "Isn't that sweet, his birthday's on Valentine's Day!" "Well isn't he just a little angel!" "Happy Birthday Sweetheart!" It takes a real man to have a birthday on Valentines Day. Pink Cakes, chocolate hearts, "Birthday-Valentine" hallmark cards, and did I mention pink cakes. It seems like just yesterday that I was 35.

I'm trying to reach back into the mind of a 12-year-old to see who I thought I'd be a 36, but I'm not even sure that the number seemed real to me. All my heros were younger than that. Dr. J., Bob Greasie, James Taylor (there's an interesting combo for you). I still feel like I'm trying to figure out how to get started at 36, but I guess that's the trick of life isn't it? You live it inspite of yourself. You're living the plans you did not make as you are busy making more.

I was born 36 years ago today in the middle of a record snow storm in a little North Carolina mountain town called Boone. My parents were living in a trailer park and it was so cold that the dishes were frozen in the kitchen sink. My Dad was working at least two jobs and my mother was desperate to have me because she had miscarried twice before I came along. My two older brothers were bundled up in layers of sweatshirts awaiting my arrival. I've been told that I slept the entire first 3 months of life, waking up only to eat. My Aunt Faye loves to tell the story of how she would come around to see me and they would try to wake me up. She claims my eyes would flutter, I would offer one gummy grin and go right back to sleep dispite their best efforts to prod me into wakefullness.

Today things are different. I have two sweet boys of my own who have no concept of what 36 years will mean to them. To me, 36 years is a gift. I kissed Dylan goodbye this morning and told him that I loved him. He told me "I love you also Daddy." Also. I love that.