It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want Too - Ginger Simpson

Seems like yesterday I was 20, aching to be twenty-one.  Don't have any idea why except that twenty-one makes you "legal."  I don't drink, never was much of a smoker, but the idea of being a true adult was something I craved.  I guess because I never expected to live long enough to flash my ID at someone who asked for verification of my age.  Always had a terrible fear of death, and no matter which age I turned, I convinced myself I was living my last year.  You know, won't live to graduate, but when I did, wouldn't live to get married, but I did.  Then I worried I wouldn't live long enough to have children, but I did...even though they tried hard to kill me.  *lol*

My father and his entire family passed away young.  Dad was only sixty-one, so that was my new number of fear.  But here I am...bypassing that age by several years, shocked that God has granted me the good fortune of enjoying a grandson despite predictions that I looked exactly liked my Aunt Miriam who passed away much too early.  I guess there are some strong "Poole" genes that have overrode the weak "Pomerantz" ones since my Mom just turned 90 on November 1 and I'm still alive and kicking, albeit not very high.  Funny how no one asked to see my ID when I was younger, but here in TN, if you buy beer, you have to show an ID.  Even the age spots on my hands won't do...they want to see my license.  Strange.

My sisters and I were all enjoying a good laugh the other night (but crying inside) at what shocks lay in store for senior citizens.  Growing old is one surprise after another.  From your eyelashes falling out, to whatever held up the skin on your neck disappearing overnight, to growing that "old lady" belly most likely meant to support your elongating boobs to the possibility of spending money on lifting something or plumping up something that's disappeared.  I've never had much lip line, so imagine if I turned up with one all of a sudden!!!!  I guarantee you, I'm no Angelina Jolie.

  We are all three years apart, and my youngest sister will turn 60 in a few weeks.  For one year, my sisters, our brother and I will all share the same decade.  While some people love the "back in the sixties" craze...for us it will have a whole new meaning:  sixty, sixty-three, sixty-six, and sixty-nine.

So...today I give thanks to God for letting me be part of this wacky family that produced the first punk rocker in a redneck town, a child determined to piss off every policeman in his path, a wonderful grandson who hasn't let autism defeat him, along with a mother, sisters and brother who add love and laughter to my life.  Two daughters-in-law have made my sons the men they are today...I couldn't have done it without them.  Yes, I'm spoiled. I'm especially thankful for a husband who takes care of me, loves me, wrinkles, fat and all, and is proud of everything I've accomplished in my 69 years.  Kelly is my biggest fan.

So, Happy Birthday to Me.  My sister, Glynda got me "delivered" water so I can begin drinking the 96 ounces a day the nutritionist advised.  I do good to drink a plastic bottle of Aquafina in a day, so perhaps my end will come from drowning.  That's always been another fear of mine.  *lol*