Birthday

On the 26th day of April at 11:40 pm in 1971, I came into this world. Average life expectance seems to be around 76 years old for America, so I am now nearing "midlife" for an American male. It amuses me to state that, because most people think of their late forties or fifties as midlife, even though it is really closer to the end.

Mom always likes to tell (and I enjoy hearing) the story about her being in labor at the military hospital on base, being told to leave and “don’t come back until your water breaks” (this is back when hospitals could do that sort of thing). The mad dash back to the hospital that night where mom pushed her way in and informed them that her water hadn’t broken but I was a-coming. They didn't believe her until they looked and saw my bald head crowning. Mom having her water break as she was cursing and pushing and bringing me forth in the world.

The mix-up during naming where mom thought they had agreed to the name “Eric Allen” but, when dad filled out the paperwork, I became “John Martin.”

There are the funny stories about my attempts to have birthday parties. Mom, being a good baker and cook in general, would make me interesting and unique cakes (the bunny cake, the 3-d castle cake with icing moat and Hershey’s chocolate for doors and windows, etc.), but I usually wound up crying or angry in the end—because I was uncomfortable being the center of attention and never really liked large gatherings. I gave up on birthdays well before my parents did, but they soon followed suit and we would just have a quiet night of just family, with maybe a few close friends.

Then the college years, where mom would come down and we would go to lunch or dinner at a nice restaurant and she would make me open presents and explain why she had given me each one. I still remember the looks on those around us as I unwrapped each present at Olive Garden and correctly guessed the reason for each one. I’m not sure, but I think we started new family trends in those who watched us that day.

The last ten years my birthdays have gotten quieter. In my days at QSI, we would have cake as a group and some would even sing. I miss my hugs from Judith. At FIC, it started bigger, when our department was bigger, and involved glitter-wars with Kari and watching the eager anticipation of Danielle just wanting to get to the damn cake! Now, with a much smaller department and being out of the way, it’s a simple affair—just how I like it.

I’ve mellowed a great deal too. While still a guy with plenty of soapboxes (which you know if you frequent this blog), I am trying to center myself. Actually, writing this has helped a great deal. Matter of fact, I once had a girlfriend exclaim “You’re a fucking robot!” because I am one who doesn’t emote well. I have the emotion, but I discuss, I analyze, and I act on the results instead of just overtly showing them. I’m working on that, too.

I don’t have many regrets.

• I regret not trying harder to make Jennifer stay. I think many things would be different today if I had done that. I still think of her nearly every day.
• I regret not asking Cathy out when I wanted to (she met her eventual husband three days later). I think this worked out for the best because, while I know I would have been great for her then, Steve turned out to be great for her long-term.
• I regret not being closer with dad, but, damn it, he can call me, too.
• I sometimes, but not often, regret choosing English Literature over a science degree in college. I still think I would make a damn-fine medical examiner, but have no desire to go back to school to change that decision now. And I enjoy Technical Writing and I am good at it.
• I regret not fighting Paul over Carmen in High School. While not a violent person by any means, I wanted to, but I just couldn’t egg him into it, even when he was threatening me. The ass had too much to lose, but thought he could get away with threatening me.
• I regret how I let Susan drift away.
• I regret that my inability to show my emotions and my need to over-analyze keeps a barrier between me and others. This regret I am working on and, I think, making some progress with.
• And I regret I’ve allowed my autoimmune hepatitis and rheumatoid arthritis take things I enjoy from me. And, I regret the fear this chronic illness has put into me.

In taking stock in my 34th year, I have a good life, with good family and good friends. I have many more peaks than valleys.

As I move forward from this day, with an eye toward hopefully another 34+ years to come, I see a few things to work on.

• Leaving the fear my chronic illness has given me behind. I need to be cautious and listen to my body, but it’s time to stop letting my illness make decisions for me.
• Continuing to work on my emotional growth and working to be a more open individual.
• Continuing to foster the great friendships I have and adding new friends to my existing circle.