Today is Kim’s birthday and we are 270 miles away from each other.  We have kind of become used to this routine this year as we each run some cover for our aging parents.  Kim’s in western PA and mine on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Sadly, it has become more efficient to split up on weekends since there never seems to be enough time to cover all our bases.

June is always a wash for us anyway because of our church yard sale which Kim and I are heavily involved in.  That may sound silly in the context of opening up your garage door on a Saturday morning, moving some things out on to the driveway and then parking yourself in a lawn chair while you collect money.

I have written about this event before. Physically it is the most challenging thing that I do every year.  Not even taking into consideration the three weeks we take to prepare, think of it as walking five or six marathons in a 36 to 48 hour time period while carrying someone’s donated sofa.

This year, more than ever, I could really feel it.

This being my birthday month I was also required to renew my driver’s license.  I opted to get one of those real ID’s.  So one rainy morning a couple of weeks ago I got up early went to the DMV which is always a painful experience and this one was no exception

I brought my birth certificate, my W-2, my mortgage statement, my electric bill, my marriage license, and what was left of my social security card.

The guy at the information desk asked what I wanted to do, then asked to see my birth certificate.

My birth certificate is very fragile.  Taped together after all those years of being carried in my wallet from back in the day when you could get served at age 18 and sometimes you needed extra proof of your age.

I smiled and handed it to the guy making small excuses for its condition due to the fact its shares its age with me.

He looked at it and said, “This is not a birth certificate.”

Catching me off guard I said, “Excuse me? This is my birth certificate…it’s been my birth certificate, well (stammering now) …since I was born!”

(Boy that was a really smart thing to say, I thought to myself)

“It is not a birth certificate it is a registration of birth certificate, you need to get the real birth certificate,” he replied.

I continued to debate the authenticity of my birth certificate but to no avail, the guy says, “Would you like to come back with your real birth certificate or just renew your license?”

“I will just renew my license,” I said dejectedly.

And then there was my doctor’s appointment.    I get great anxiety over picking up the phone and making a doctor’s appointment, it takes a lot of self-debating.  However, this time in the week’s leading up the yard sale, the chronic pain in my legs, the mysterious growth on my skin, and the pain and lump in my armpit finally motivated me to make the call.  Truthfully the axillary pain and lump was the decider.  So at 7:30 a.m. on the Monday following the yard sale I scheduled my appointment.

Low and behold as is typically the case when I make a doctor’s appointment, a few days before, the chronic leg pain I had been experiencing for months subsided and the axillary pain and lump disappeared so basically I looked like an idiot going to the doctor. I assured him (he is a new primary for me) I wasn’t a hypochondriac and I really had symptoms…once.  At the end  of the exam he gave me one of those polite, patronizing come back to see me when you have more serious boo-boo’s send offs and I left swearing that the next time I visit a doctor it will be out of the back of an ambulance.

 

While going through my garage earlier this month looking for items to bring up to the church yard sale,  I found a post card from thirty years ago that Alexa had given me on my 33^rd birthday.

It read:

Dear Daddy

I love you a lot

It is very fun having you as a dad

I like you very much

Rember (sic)

We have to buy something for Browies (sic) (tomorow) (sic)

I love you being the big 33er

Love

Alexa

 

I think I figured out that Alexa would have been six years old when she wrote this.

I don’t even remember her being in the Browies…I mean Brownies.

 

What is the point of all this?

Not sure.

I guess now being the big 63er causes me to reflect.

The grueling physical weekend I had last week reminded me I am not young anymore and I can’t do what I used to.

My experience renewing my license shows the challenges of change and bureaucracy.  Some problems can’t be fixed no matter how much tape you use.

The pain and swelling in my armpit was a red flag for me on how quickly my situation could change and had me wondering if I was okay with my life up to this point and was I in the right place with God.

A post card from thirty years ago shows me how fast thirty years can go by, and what I don’t remember about my kids growing up.

Now sitting across the table from my parents, I see the preview of what is to come since I am the next generation, and wonder if my kids will do the same.

And being 270 miles away from my wife on her birthday tells me that sometimes there are things in life that that are more of a priority, like our parents.

But also, how much I miss her.

Happy Birthday Baby.