Daddy, there will be fishes and alligators at your law school!

I always like it when my birthday is the day after Memorial day weekend. And truthfully, I have always liked my birthday regardless of how mopey I get about it.

My freshman year of high school, my brother got tickets to the first major stadium show that I ever went to. It was Sugarcubes, PIL (Can you believe no one loves them enough to give them a good fan page? I suppose that's why he's Johnny Rotten), and New Order. This may not sound awesome to you, but then you'd be wrong.

When I turned 19, I flew Rick Lopez to Athens, Georgia. While I was there, I went to the 40 Watt and had a major epiphany which I forgot, even though I wrote an essay about it. I have a tendency to write an essay about myself on my birthday. I blame Mr. Ashman. Sorry I spelled your name incorrectly, Chuck.

When I was turned 21, I was in London. The end of term banquet was held in the refectory. I got to sit at the head table because I had been the editor of the newsletter. I received a pair of gold-colored dolphin cufflinks (which I still have) that remind me of So long and thanks for all the fish. Normally these dinners are an opportunity to get right snockered (that's a high-class faux-Englishly way of saying "very drunk") but I had to go back to my room and study for my final in Continental Philosophy. Nevertheless, I enjoyed listening to 120 very drunk students from all over the United Kingdom sing "Happy Birthday" to me.

These memorable events notwithstanding, every birthday since has been with Louren and for the last three years, Dakota. These have been happier, if less momentous. Sure, I have had barbecues. And I've waxed lyrical about how they should make a movie ripped from the headlines and inspired by true life events about bowling balls rampaging all over our city. But that's not the story that I tell myself.

Secretly, I have a story where the 7, 17, 49, 70, and 77 year-old William are at some sort of family gathering. The 7 year old William runs around all crazy as he is prone to do, and gets bored and is entertained by a very old man. The central passage is about the 17-year-old William getting unsolicited advice from the 49-year-old William. 17-year-old William is both incredulous and contemptuous of the nostalgic, mediocre family man. The story picks up again as the middle-aged William spends the next two decades unraveling the secret power behind the mystical nexus that brings together these different ages and does it only too late, to change anything, so he thinks. In fact, the slightly older William has sabotaged the effort because in his old age, he realizes that he does not want to change a thing. The 70 year old William is a bit bewildered by the enigmatic smile from his slightly older self until he is practically run over by a crazy young boy, whom the old man entertains. I never had a title for that story until Louren suggested "'You are old, father William,' the young man said,". Which I think is brilliant.

My point to all of this is that many people have told me that this is a new chapter in my life. It is and it isn't. For all the time and energy that I have put into my career, and for all the time and energy that I am about to put into school -- It's not the last word.