I met you when you were 15, which means I have officially known you for more than half of your life. You were just an awkwardly skinny freshman with bangs even Kelly Kapowski could envy. I, the bad-skin big-head/tiny clear-braces sophomore wearing 4 undershirts just to look bigger. No doubt I said something really charming the first time we met, probably something like “Hey I like your boon-doggles” or “You got any Carmex?” Is it awesome that I’ve know you more than half your life? Do I feel lucky, punk? I pay Clint Eastwood to ask me that everyday at gunpoint, to which I always reply “Yes sir!” (then change into a clean pair of undershorts)
This past year is in the books. It was a year of happiness, growth, learning, and realizing that you are in fact stuck with me for good. I’m like a stinky dread-locked white guy playing the bongos living in a tent at Occupy Wallstreet…I ‘aint going anywhere.
Avery is sitting next to me trying to wrap the picture she drew you for your birthday with cardstock and washi tape, using scissors like a boss. She’s just like her mama. Always making things with her hands. Quincey just walked in wearing your fedora, sucking her thumb and said, “Daddy, someone is making a very mess!” Lola just walked in by my side, said “Mah! Is dis ah duh” with her curly hair and goose-egg on her forehead (battle wound from Disneyland). I see you in all of them. Creative, cuddle-loving, headstrong 1/16th Greek children. They are all mini-Liz’s and I love that. Crap now they’re all fighting because Quincey just said “Daddy can we eat some food and go to Disneyland?” Avery: “Quincey we already WENT to Disneyland!” and now they are wrestling lemme break it up brb. Okay. Just peeked in the family room and Lola scattered raisins everywhere and took her diaper off (so some of those aren’t raisins) time to wrap this up.
Happy Birthday to the mother of my children, the eater of my french toast, the courtesy-laugher of my jokes, the tag-teamer of our time-out enforcing, the love of my life.
Oh, and for your birthday I’m buying something I found on Craigslist from a guy named “Amir” so if I don’t come back after driving to meet him this morning and there’s a statewide search for me, save time by skipping the tennis courts.