At 2:17 p.m. today, I'll be officially 24 years old. It used to be that birthdays were mostly just an excuse to dive head-first into cake and expect presents. I guess that hasn't really changed, but birthdays have grown to be a little more significant as I get older, and have become times that I allow myself even more introspection than usual.
In looking at the 1981 page on Wikipedia, I see that there were a lot of chaotic events that year. I can only imagine what my parents were thinking, at 22 and 23, expecting their first kid and watching Peter Jennings deliver news about Reagan being shot, bombings in Israel, hostage situations in the Atlanta FBI building and the first emerging cases of AIDS. Not to mention the anxiety they probably already were feeling due to encroaching student loan payments and tuition costs for my dad at CU. Not to mention the fact that somehow, Christopher Cross swept the Grammies for "Sailing."
What's my point? Well, I often tell people now that this is no world to bring a kid into. That I wouldn't do that to a kid, that I wouldn't bring a child into this kind of environment. But I'm glad and grateful to my parents that they did bring me into this broken world. If they had waited for a perfect world, I'd never had been born.
So thanks, folks. There is a lot wrong with this world, to be sure, and I am guilty of focusing on that more than I should. But I'm glad to be in it anyway.