The Year of the King

Yesterday was my 42nd birthday. It was a banner day all around, and a perfect end to 10 days of food, fun, and celebrations. In the last 10 days we’ve celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary, Father’s Day, the Lovely Mrs. G.’s 42nd birthday, and then mine. Add to that two baby showers for Little Miss Emmy, and you’ve got one family that’s partied out for a little while.

Regardless, we had fun at Casa De Gressel. I got some really cool stuff from my family, and we ate an “ass load of pizza”. (Mrs. G. had special ordered pizzas from Geno’s East in Chicago for me – Mmmm, mmmm, good – pizza via FedEx!!!) Then, the fireflies came out and lit up the backyard in their annual lightshow. I’m telling you – it really doesn’t get better than that.

So now I’m 42. I call it my “Elvis Year”, because The King was 42 when he kicked the bucket and went to the Great Graceland in the Sky. So the way I figure it, if I can make it through the next 365 days intact, then I’m doing all right for myself. Of course, since I’m not hopped up on goofballs like the King was, I’m already a lap ahead.

I really don’t mind being 42. I’m past the point where anyone is going to card me for buying alcohol (the gray hair and face full o’ wrinkles is a pretty good sign), and people now call me “Sir” sincerely, and not with that snotty attitude that they give twentysomethings. I’m 42, a grandfather, and a little round in the middle, but it’s okay. I’m still young on the inside, and that’s what counts.

I’m a firm believer that you’re only as old as you let yourself be. I don’t know if I’ll perpetually be 12 years old, but for now, it seems to work out. The kid in me seems to enjoy it.

So if today is your birthday, then best wishes. And if not, well then a Very Merry Unbirthday to You!

Elvis would’ve wanted it that way.