Birthdays need to be celebrated. When most of us think of the anniversaries of our birth, we probably have flashbacks to childhood. When I was three, my parents put together a party with the theme of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. For me, it might as well have been a state banquet at the White House or at Buckingham Palace. The icing on the cake (pun intended) — besides the love — was a Dopey cookie. Mom had figurines of all seven of the little guys around the cake, but he was my favorite. At Walt Disney World, when I was about ten, I was quick to ask for a Dopey doll. I sensed a kinship early on.
A friend recently sent me a copy of Henri J. M. Nouwen’s Here and Now: Living in the Spirit while I’ve been on medical leave from full-time work at National Review. (Coming back soon to a full slate!) Maybe we all need to do what Nouwen recommends and take some time during middle age to reflect on what has been and what is happening now, with a trust in Providence about the future, knowing all God has already provided in abundance. The timing is right for me. As Wikipedia will accurately tell you, my 50th birthday is on March 22, 1976. (I have no idea how it got there; not everything on that page is correct or relevant. You can’t believe everything on the internet.) Since I was born in the bicentennial year, the whole United States of America is celebrating my birthday this year. I look pretty good considering. (Yes, I clearly missed my calling as purveyor of dad jokes.)
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