Happy Belated Birthday, Dad

So, dig this:  Yesterday, my dad turned seventy-five years old.  Seventy-five.  That, frankly, boggles my mind.  I mean, I know that my dad is growing older and sure he's going to be seventy-five someday.  But it's just a little more overwhelming than I thought it would be.  I wonder how it feels being him?

I suppose the fact that my dad was thirty-five years old when I was born should shock me even more... 'cuz that means that very, very shortly I'm going to be turning forty years old.  A concept that is alternately horrifying and fascinating to me.

As a gay man, I might as well write off liaisons with anyone more than a year or two younger than me, because as stigmatized as thirty year-olds are in the gay community, forty year-olds are even worse off.  As far as younger gay men are concerned, they might as well be dead.  I have to say, though, for the most part I'm okay with that.  I've reached this point in my life where the thought of an affair with someone who's, say, twenty-five, while theoretically exciting, seems ridiculous to me.  I haven't actually come across many people that age with whom I share enough interests that would make spending a lot of time with them palatable.

But enough about me.  What do you think about me?

No, really:  My dad.  I was just thinking about my dad being thirty-five when I was born.  That means when he was my age he already had an amazing life:  eight children, three jobs, a house, and more bills than he could shake a fist at.  But he still managed to hold it all together, and we thrived, or at least survived.  I can barely balance my freakin' checkbook.  I marvel at the thought of my dad coming to the end of his money before his next paycheck... I know what I go through when I have too much month at the end of my paycheck; I can only imagine the unbelievable torture he and my mom went through when the money was running out, payday was still a week away, and all these kids were clamoring for food, clothing, supplies and just plain stuff.  It makes my head spin.

It's a lesson in learning that one doesn't have to grace a battlefield to be a hero, I suppose.  My mom and dad had their faults; they'd be the first to admit they had plenty of them.  But they did some logistically amazing things, I think, in raising their brood, and that stuff tends to be forgotten as time goes by and we get caught up in our regular lives.

So:  Hats off to you, dad.  I love you, and I hope your birthday was wonderful!