I'm a Man, I'm (Almost) Forty

2014 is a big year. Later this year, I will turn forty years old, which is some sort of milestone I suppose in our "random important numbers in life" series. Let's see--you've got the 1st birthday, which I don't remember very well. You've got the 16th birthday, for mobility reasons. You've got the 21st birthday, which I also don't remember very well. Now, there's 40.

One of the things I hope to do with writing is to express emotions about my dad. I have, in many ways, used writing to run from emotions over the last two years. I write every day, and work my butt off with the website. When you keep yourself really busy, you tend to occupy the brain and avoid those quiet moments of reflection that cause the tears to well.

So it is today, at the start of this year, that I am forcing myself to think about my dad.

Useless Trivia

I remember going to a Casa Bonita in Denver in early June of 1984, a place that had a cliff diver and lots of fountains and, more importantly for our story, a television that was showing a Lakers-Celtics NBA Finals game. I remember watching part of that game in the bar area while we were waiting for a table. And as sad as it is to me, I'm beginning to think that catching a part of that game on the TV as a 10-year old is my totem--something that allows me to tie back and recognize my reality, why I remember that musty smell and walking around the upper level and looking for that cliffdiver.