Another milestone has come for me. The big Three-One

Okay, that’s not necessarily a “milestone”, like turning 18, 21, 30, or 40. It shouldn’t even register as anything other than a birthday. Like most others, this year will be celebrated without any major fanfare. Last year there was “John Ale Appreciation Day”, which turned into a month long thing. Pretty cool for an old guy, if you ask me. This year, nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

Enter : My big birthday present.

The truth is that over the past couple of years, probably as a result of a two-term Clinton Administration, my hair has slowly moved from my head to my back. I’m not really happy that my hair is transgressing south, but now it’s just ridiculous.

It’s like some kind of animal moved in. I may need some kind of permit for this. I’ve never had a pet before.

Actually, I had finches. Three of them. They died. I forgot to feed them. One time, one of them escaped and flew throughout the house. My mom yelled at me, then laughed when I tried to catch him. All three feet of me, up and down the stairs of that Queens, New York, home.

It was the only pet my father ever let me have. He told me that we once had a dog, but it ran away. That was his way of telling me that we wouldn’t have any (more) pets.

It’s been a few months since the twentiethth anniversary of his death, I may go against my whole fear of flying to do a pilgrimage to Puerto Rico next summer to see where he’s buried. I figure that it’ll me a good year to get the nerve up to sit in a plane to fly that long.

Sadly, I don’t remember too much about him. He used to be a waiter at the Four Seasons in Manhattan, New York. He drank. A lot. Actually, that’s what killed him.

The one time we went to DisneyWorld, I remember the Haunted House ride. The end of the ride had “mirrors”. I was a ghost. My mom was a witch. My dad was a skeleton. It was eerie forshadowing for me. After he died, mom and I fought a lot. It bothered me a long time.

I just hope I get to see my boy’s tenth birthday. His graduation from high school. His wedding. I don’t want to let my future down. My father died when I was ten, just like his father died when he was ten. I’ve always felt cursed because of that. One of my biggest fears was to leave a void in my boy’s life.

Imagine me with a kid. My friend Jessica thinks I’d be a good dad. Last year, when I visited her in Louisiana, she saw how I was with her 7-month-old. Her boy loved me, and she knew it. Kathy, who I went to school with, thinks I’d be a good dad too. She’s seen me around her son, and how much fun I had. Maybe I’d be a good dad.

But I’ll have to get rid of this back hair first.