Happy Birthday to Me

1968 was a leap year. They say it was the Year That Rocked the World.

The Tet Offensive began. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed. The civil rights movement was raging. The 747 rolled out. Bras burned. Yale decided to admit women. Hair debuted on Broadway. Hot Wheels rolled. Andy Warhol was shot. 60 Minutes aired. Led Zeppelin rocked. Skirts were short. Bottoms were belled. Peace signs were ubiquitous. I was born.

I’m 45 years old today. I’m not one to whine about aging. It sure beats the alternative. My lines are as defined as my personality. My values are more solid than my retirement account. My posture is good. My health is worry-free. I’m drug free but not student debt free. My hair is graying while my life becomes more colorful. My age creeps up in unexpected ways, though nothing creaks yet. I see signs of my 45 years in my hands. These hands that know the tenderness of a little boy’s soft grip and the fierce power of a husband holding me steady.

I know what joy is. I have created the family I used to dream about. I do work that I love. I write. I read. I cook. I volunteer. I advocate. I laugh. I live a pretty charmed life. I am happy. I am healthy. I am loved.

Throngs of people are not so blessed. Suffering abounds, and so much can be prevented. I’d like to cash in some joy points to help others. Today, on my birthday, I’d like to give back to an organization that means the world to me. It is indeed an organization that serves the world. I was born in Calcutta, India and was lucky to be born to educated parents who have always made my health their priority. I’d like to share the health this year. I don’t want gifts of any sort. If you’d like to help me ring in 45, please give a child in a developing country the chance to live past age 5. It’s true that I have 40 years on most of those children who do not get a shot at life. Donate to Shot@Life where 20 bucks buys a lifetime of immunity. I can’t think of a better present.