I'm cheating. It's not first thing in the morning; it's mid-afternoon. I had my coffee long ago, and I'm probably entirely capable of conscious and rational thought. Or at least I hope I am. And I'm in the midst of celebrating my fifty-fourth birthday, something I only get one shot at doing, and I guess I'm having mixed results.
One of the problems of fatherhood is that it doesn't come with any guarantees. You take the bad days with the good days, without ever knowing what the next day, or even moment, will bring. And this seems to go double during the teenage years. This, as it happens, is one of those bad days, a day when my very existence seems to be an imposition on my daughter. And she's not the least bit shy about letting me know.
On the other hand, I think I'm fifteen years shy of becoming older than the combined maximum ages of my parents, so at least I get to experience things like this. And it's just another day on the calendar, even if it is a day that we like to note. So this is my way of acknowledging the event and preserving it for posterity. Or until the disk drive holding this information perishes.
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