Yep, our daughter turns 12 today.
Oh wait, hasn’t that already happened? Yes. And no.
The celebration happened weeks ago. That’s the “yes” part.
Yes, as in, you remember reading about this, don’t you?
But – here comes the “no” part – her actual birthday is today. So her birthday never really happened. Until today.
So, for the sake of accuracy and the never-ending attempts to avoid giving a pre-teen the ammo she might use against me in the very near future: Let it be known that Isabel Burnstein Colby is – finally – 12 today.
And she’s not having a bad day, either. Blueberry pancakes for breakfast thanks to Mom. A swimming-fest with her friends this afternoon. Her recommended meal of Chinese food for dinner. A movie with Mom. And then an evening of music at Lamb Abbey with family and friends to see the youngsters who make up “Evan Crandall and the Too Hot to Handle.”
While playing daddy-taxi earlier today, Isabel and I had the following conversation:
Me: Do you know what tomorrow is?
Isabel: Saturday?
Me: Yeah, but what else?
Isabel: Not sure.
Me: It’s not your birthday.
Isabel: Nope, it’s actually the day after my birthday.
I’ve met my match.
Happy birthday, sweetie. And don’t forget: At 4:08 on this day in 1997, you were put in my arms and I declared the following: “It’s a puppy.” The nurses didn’t get it but you apparently did: We were off to a very unique relationship. And I wouldn’t trade a minute of it for anything.
“Yep, our daughter turns 12 today.”
Sweet story! Really, I mean it.
What I don’t understand, this is the internet, the world wide web.
Everything is being recorded.
What is your sense of privacy?
Does your daughter approve of you disclosing all this information?
And if she does is she aware of the implications?
Are you?
Every writer has their own internal filter for the private/public line they choose to straddle. Sometimes those who get tangled up in the stories that become public are less than amused. Sometimes they’re thrilled. Most of the time, though, they don’t care.
As for my daughter, she doesn’t care. She’s a blogger, too.
Regarding the “implications,” the only ones I bother with involve whether or not you — the reader — enjoyed the story. I can deal with either.
But thanks for asking.