Birthdays come and go, but wrinkles stay forever

I don't remember every birthday I ever had, but some memories do stick around.

On my 10th birthday, we were visiting my grandparents - my father's parents. We went to town for some shopping and my dad bought me a pin for my birthday. It was a cat, bejeweled with clear glass, except for the black stones that made up its eyes and nose, and it was shiny. I loved that pin. It was the best birthday ever, because in our family, you did not normally get presents any other time of the year except Christmas. So it was a thing of envy for my other siblings.


My mother let me have a party on my 16th birthday. Yep, we are Hispanic -- of Mexican descent -- but I never heard of a quincenera until I was an adult. But "sweet 16" now that was another thing.

My 18th birthday - I was "legal" and able to buy booze in Montana. It was my senior year, so buy booze, I did.

My 25th birthday. I was officially old. That's right. Every commercial on t.v. for Oil of Olay creams told me the product was for "women over 25."

My 40th birthday. I had just graduated from college. I had a new career. I was young, the whole world before me.

My 50th birthday. I spent it at a Gridiron show, singing and dancing about politicians etc. Then the following Saturday, I met my friends for brunch at my favorite French bistro in OKC. It was wonderful and special.

Today: Well, heck. I'm working most of the day. Then, I might venture out to dinner and a movie. I think I'm getting too old for birthdays. Right now, they're a reminder that my life is closer to the end than the beginning. Damn, I just depressed myself.

Happy birthday to me.