It's About the Cakeby Wendel James Potter
Another birthday is coming my way this weekend. I remember not many years ago when it started to sink in that I was getting close to 50. Now I just have that sinking feeling because I'm getting farther away from 50.
Birthdays used to mean something special. I remember taking treats to kindergarten when I turned six. I remember my ninth birthday, when I had my biggest birthday party of all time with a house full of playmates joining in the celebration.
There was my 16th birthday, followed by that trip to the court house when I got my drivers' license. When I turned 18, the United States government sent me a card...my draft card. How nice.
The Viet Nam War was still in full swing at the time. I never was drafted, but it still made me feel special that Uncle Sam remembered my birthday.
My 18th birthday also meant that I could register to vote. My father, a Republican just to the right of Richard Nixon, had a suspicion that I intended to register as a Democrat.
He took me aside and lectured me on the evils inherent in the Democratic party and proclaimed that if I wanted to see this country continue on its righteous course of freedom, then it would behoove me to join the Republicans.
So I registered as an independent and have maintained that status ever since.
My 20th was another special birthday. When I turned 20 years of age in Nebraska, I could legally walk into a bar and have myself a big ol' legal drink. Or two or three or more. The morning after I turned 20, I didn't feel so special.
As we get older, the landmark birthdays are few and far between. Folks still make a bit of a fuss over turning 30, but moreso over turning 40. That's when all the gallows humor is displayed with over-the-hill jokes and black party streamers and a cake with a tombstone motif.
Parties like those usually don't have anything to do with truly getting old. They have to do with a bunch of people finding an excuse to get together and get drunk.
Fifty seems to be a turning point, though. Your body whines a little louder for attention. Your hair gets grayer, or just falls out. It's not quite so easy to read the license plate number on that car in the neighbors' driveway. You get up in the night to pee (and if you're a guy, your faucet drips).
Food doesn't taste like it did in the old days. And you find yourself thinking more and more about the old days.
Lines are longer. Drivers are crazier. The crime rate is higher. Technology is gnawing at the core of our values. The world is spinning out of control and its the fault of the younger generation.
I'd like to say that I could live without birthdays. Obviously, I couldn't.
But these days -as I get older - it's not about the numbers. It's about the cake.
My wonderful wife honors me each year on my birthday with a Black Forest cake. It is my favorite.
If you don't know what a Black Forest cake is, then here is our version. You bake a two-layer chocolate cake with cherry pie filling between the layers. You frost it with chocolate frosting. You crown the cake with more cherry pie filling then top it off with whipped cream.
It is a thing of beauty. Happy Birthday to Me!
I don't care about celebrating my birthday any more. I don't want parties. Cards and gifts are appreciated, but are not necessary.
At my age, attaching numbers to a birthday serve only as a reminder that's there's so few left. Why dwell on it?
For me, it's about the cake.
Copyright 2006 Wendel James Potter
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