because life doesn’t fit in a file folder

My Annual Birthday Poem: A Terribly Self-Indulgent, Truly Narcissistic Post

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Today is my birthday. I’m um… a year older than I was last year. 😉

Every year, for as long as I can remember, my parents have sent me a birthday card. Generally, my card arrives about two weeks early. This year’s card arrived on November 11th, so they are getting closer.

Inside the card, my mom always tells me that I am beautiful, that she remembers my birth as if it were yesterday, (I’ll bet she does), and she wishes me happiness, good health and good luck.

My father always writes me a poem. Well, technically, they are written an anonymous poet, whose handwriting just so happens to look exactly like my father’s script. Since nobody writes anymore, I have come to cherish these little ditties that my father (I mean, “anonymous”) pens for me.

This year’s poem reads:

There once was a girl named Schuls
Who didn’t care much for jewels
Her greatest wish
Was for people to be good in English
And follow the grammar rules.

And it’s true: I don’t care much for diamonds or pearls or rubies or emeralds or gold. And I do wish everyone would walk around with his or her grammar style-book at all times (just in case of an “affect/effect” emergency). But my greatest wish is that my parents stick around for a really long time – at least another hundred years – and that they keep sending me their fabulously goofy cards once a year. At least two weeks early. Their continued wackiness makes getting older a little easier.

Do you have a favorite birthday ritual?