But I remember when I was younger, I loved having a birthday.
I could hardly wait to open my presents that had been sitting there, starring at me for an eternity, begging me to secretly open them.
Heck, I even had a b-day party when it wasn't my b-day.
I was about 6 or 7 years old and for some reason I told a couple friends it was my birthday.
Such a little liar.
I remember it was summertime. I was only a few months off.
Before I knew it, my friends went home and told their mothers about it.
They ran off to buy me gifts.
When I got wind of this, there was only one thing I could do...
I planned my own b-day party.
It was going to be a big blow out -- on the back side of the apartments, far away from the prying eyes of my mother.
The party was shaping up too.
Several friends planned to be at the location later that afternoon.
I actually saw one of them taking my present out of his mom's car.
A plastic set of play golf clubs... pretty cool huh?
Just a few hours to go. I went home to get ready. But fate called first.
The phone rang.
I was in the kitchen with my mom.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
She said hello, listened for a moment, then quickly turned to me and sternly shouted "he said what!?!"
Busted!
The party was off and I had to go from apartment to apartment to apologize.
Anyway, I guess I learned my lesson.
I haven't thrown a fake b-day party for myself since.
Unless you count my 35th, when I stretched the celebration into about 4 days and countless free drinks.
Ahh, the good ole days.
At my age, I'm lucky I can remeber them at all.