My birthday has come, and for all intents and purposes, gone. It was lackluster at best, garnering the obligated phone calls, a few cards, some much appreciated cash, and a special greeting on my MSN homepage. Aside from that it was quite dull. It isn't that I expect much. We are broke and tired and dealing with two small, yet very loud, children. I wasn't expecting much, but I thought the day might feel different than usual, a little more special, maybe just a hint of magic in the way things appeared. All for naught.
My own son, sweet and loving as he is, has yet to wish me well. My wife has barely acknowledged the occasion. If anything the day, and in turn me, feels quite a bit less than special.
It is a lonely and melancholy day, and that is about as perfect a fit as can be for me.
I didn't expect much.