#Happy Birthday to me...

It is my birthday today. Hurray. Another year older.

I have to confess something. I am living with a deep, dark secret. Sure, it says on my birth certificate that I was born on this day, but that is a lie. My actual birthday is on April 4th.

That’s right. You are reading this correctly. I was born on April 4th, which makes me 12 days older than it says on my birth certificate. I have lived with this lie for my entire life and only my close family and a couple of friends ever knew about that.

How could this horrible thing happen? I am glad you are asking yourself this question (or maybe not.) Apparently, when my birth certificate was written they put in the wrong date. I know, the answer sounds too easy, perhaps a bit too glib, but that’s what my parents told me happened and they never realized the mistake until it was too late to correct it.

One consolation—it isn’t my fault. After all, I was a baby when I was born, unable to speak or even to read. Even if I could have read or spoken, I didn’t know the language. There are so many other things to learn after you are born, I didn’t worry about my papers being in order. I trusted my parents with that. The only thing I did well was scream and probably some gurgling sounds. My parents didn’t speak baby language, even though they had ample opportunity to learn it while they waited for me to be born. So what could I do? Nothing, it seems. Now I have to live with this thing.

 Now that you all know this, it must suddenly become clear to you why I looked my age 12 days already. That would explain the discrepancy in my appearance. Of course, that would be if you could see me. Perhaps it is a good thing you can’t, because today I am already 12 days older than my papers say. That is the devastating, brutal truth. I am a fraud, pretending to be younger than I am in reality.

What must people think of me now? Will they wonder if I am actually the person I say I am? Are they wondering if I hide any other secrets? If I were interrogated, would they force me to confess that I prefer Vanilla ice-cream to Strawberry ice-cream as I have proclaimed? How about my name? Is it really Herbert? Was I really ever 5’9” tall only a few years ago? If I was, why does the ruler say I am 5’7”? Why is my hair curly and dark (well, it was a number of years ago) when pictures of me as a child portray me with blond, straight hair? Those are serious questions begging for answers.

Fortunately, the mistake was made only with the day but not the month or, Heaven forbids, the year. If that were the case my mind might be in turmoil. I might even have to see a Psychiatrist or Psychologist. Not that I think much of either profession. I don’t really know what they actually do and I don’t ever want to find out. All I know is they make pretty good money and I wish I were one. In my opinion, people who go see them need their head examined.

There is one thing I worry about. Since I am actually 12 days older there might be a problem some day. What if I die, let’s say after the 4th of April on my 120th birthday. According to the records, I would be only 119 years old and yet I am in reality already 120. I might lose out on some kind of record. This scenario doesn’t really bother me, but it is of some concern. I know, you don’t give a crap about that, but it is easy to talk when your records are normal. Mine aren’t. Mistakes were made.

Every negative side has a positive side. In a way I am having two birthdays, one real one and one fake one. I have the opportunity to chose when I want to celebrate and I do. I celebrate when it is most convenient. Heck, I could celebrate any day from the 4th of April until the 16th.

Anyway, now that my secret is out I hope you keep it to yourself. I’m telling this in confidence only to my closest friends of which you are one. Don’t disappoint me.

On this note I wish everyone who reads this a wonderful day, even though it is raining here where I am and it is difficult to be cheerful on days like this. Next week the sun is supposed to make an appearance again and everything will be just peachy.

It’s my birthday. I’m happy.