Birthdays have a tendency to put me in a melancholy mood. I know that is not an earth-shattering revelation, as many do not enjoy the aging process for a variety of reasons. My reason is really just a game of fractions.
My father is eighty years old today. I was born two days before his 27th birthday.
When I was young, I told him I would someday catch up with him. In elementary school, as I learned fractions, I told him that I could prove this fact. When I was 9, he was 36 and I was a quarter of his age. I explained that when I reached the age of 27, I would be exactly half of his age. Then, every year that passed afterwards, I would be gaining until I would eventually catch him. Even then I understood it was just a joke, yet it was a laugh we shared together.
Due to his religious belief, my father has not celebrated a birthday since I was born. Even so, for many years, two days before his birthday, we talked. Many times it was just a phone call, yet he always remembered my fractured reasoning and would update me what the current ratio was.
I also did not celebrate my birthdays, but as life happens, I had to make changes in my belief system – some of them not so popular with my parents. And while I respect them for holding to their convictions, I could not continue to follow that same path.
My father is eighty years old today. I have not heard his voice in years. Oh, he still lives in the house I grew up in, but we are distanced by something I cannot repair. Yet, I know that he knows I am catching up with him.
He would not appreciate me wishing him a happy birthday, but I will share that the current fraction is 53/80.
I love you, Dad, and I miss you very much.
| Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. |
