Just like I wrote earlier… it’s my birthday. Birthdays are fun, aren’t they? On my fifth birthday, I got to fly around in a Cessna plane above the city of Des Moines, IA (thinking I wanted to become a pilot). On my sixth birthday, my parents hired a magician (thinking I wanted to become a prestidigitator). On my seventh birthday, I don’t remember much because someone spiked the fruit punch (just kidding, but wouldn’t that make a wonderful story for the grandkids). On my eighth birthday, I stopped keeping track of my birthdays as I was quickly becoming… an “old man.â€Â? Remember the days when “21″ was old? Neither do I – and they say that memory is the first thing to go. The only thing I want this year is a bigger chest.

My Birthday