Bizarre birthday ritual

On a personal note: Happy Birthday, Adam. How does number 35 feel? Much like 34 and 33, I presume? Well, congratulations on making it this far. Six kids, a fantastic wife, and a legacy of fine living. I hope this year marks the beginning of many good things for you.

Hmm... my brother's birthday is here, which means that mine is fast approaching. Nothing is needed, thank you. The discounted car insurance will be fine enough for me.

Many things today. In fact, I have so many ideas in my head that I'm debating whether or not to save some of these wonders for another day. You've seen my history lately, so you should understand my desire to space things out, right? Nevertheless, I tread on.

Over the weekend, while visiting my parents house, we broke out the old super 8mm projector. As I have very few baby pictures, my wife really wanted to see what I looked like and this was pretty much the only valid option. It was a little overwhelming at first, when at first I saw the old projector and heard the familiar clicks, I will admit that I was taken back by more than a few years. After wading through 300+ reels and jury-rigging the projector, we managed to view a few of the first moments of my life.

And I still don't believe that anyone realizes what an impact that this made on me. I had never seem myself like this before, so small and new. It was me, yet it was not. The small personage in the movies who was writhing around and begging for attention did not bring even the slightest bit of remembrance to mind. We viewed reel after reel and I was amazed ever more with each passing moment.

There we were, my entire family, but so much younger. Like the Wonder Years, I tried to give context to the scene before me, but simply couldn't. Instead, I watched with amazement as I watched my life unfold before my eyes. I viewed myself at only a year old, being woken up in my own crib on my birthday. I seemed happy enough. Then, on to my first attempts at walking. My elder brother, who I spoke of earlier, would hold a blue balloon just out of my grasp, and I would clap and try so hard to grab it. I would fall each time, only to be picked up again by my father, smiling and ready to give it a go all over again.

I saw myself at eight years old, just before my baptism into the Church. There was a darkened film of my birthday party. The faces only drew brief recognition, as many of their names have long been forgotten. However, one face that I was indeed looking for struck me. My best friend Jimmy, a ghost from the past, was hitting me over the head with my present in some bizarre birthday ritual. In another scene, we were simply talking and laughing about something. It both healed and wounded me so much to see his face again, as I haven't seen him in over seven years. He passed away from leukemia when he was only 17 years old.

I basically stopped there, because I didn't want emotional overload or because the hour was late, I know not. But it was an experience that I will never forget, and hope to experience again.

Alrighty, that's enough for today. Surely there will be more tomorrow. Come back for a free prize. OK, I lied. Come back for more blather. But that's always free.

And free is a good thing.