This might be the happiest greeting you’ve ever received, you happy little even number on the upside of thirties. I’ve actually been waiting a year to find you, since I’m a weirdo who actually has number preferences and 35 isn’t a number I prefer.
It’s a boy number, and I can’t explain why it is categorized in my mind that way, but it is. I felt the same way when I turned 9 and 17.
It’s my quirky little peccadillo. I’ve also been known to look for a house in a neighborhood simply because I liked the name of the street. And I’ve also perhaps turned down a new phone number because I didn’t like the feel of those seven digits together. Things matter to me, and sometimes they aren’t things that should matter but they still do. You, 36, matter to me.
In fact, I actually wanted to just skip 35 and instead be 36 twice. I thought maybe I could be 36A and then 36B, but those are bra sizes. But finally, on this day, you have arrived in your own right. Finally.
The world is our oyster this year, 36. I bet we’ll below through a few thousand hours of writing and a couple hundred liters of diet Coke. We’ll finish third grade and fourth grade, and one boy will hit double digits on his golden birthday. I suspect there will be football practices and theater rehearsals. Probably we will visit the ER, because this is what we seem to do.
We will think and read, write and doodle, advocate and learn.
We will sit quietly and listen; we will lean forward with intent.
We will work on mastery of two elusive skills: to rest without sleeping and think without talking.
We will sing in the car and cry in the shower.
Let’s give away more than we buy.
Let’s remember things we thought we’d forgotten.
Let’s try things we never thought we’d do.
Let’s say yes to beautiful and useful.
Welcome to the world, 36. You get one year with me. Let’s kick it in the chops.
What do you say we hit Starbucks this morning? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee to launch your leg of the race.
Welcome to the team.