When you get to be my age, birthdays begin to lose a bit of their luster.
What once was a day to celebrate another successful trip around the sun is now an opportunity to reflect and take stock in where the last year has brought you.
And I don’t know about you, but the last 12 months have been an awful rocky ride in my world.
The year I was born, CBS sold the New York Yankees to a guy named Steinbrenner; the U.S. Supreme Court overturned state bans on abortion in a case called Roe v. Wade; the new World Trade Center in New York City officially opened its doors; and in Washington, President Nixon fired White House Counsel John Dean and launched the Watergate scandal in high gear.
And in a sleepy little town in northeast Oklahoma, yours truly was born the youngest son of the youngest son of the youngest son of – you guessed it – the youngest son.
That’s right. Four generations of youngest sons leading back to my great-grandfather, who was born on Jan. 20, 1879, in the Stora Åby parish of Östergötland, Sweden.
I’m not sure why that “youngest son” stuff is relevant, but somehow I think it is. I suppose it’s up to my youngest son, Solomon, to see how that lineage plays out. But whatever it is, it’s going to be big.
Literally.
Sol, 14, is our gentle giant. Midway through his freshman year at Oak Grove High School, he’s already 6’3” and he isn’t showing any sign of slowing down. His 16-year-old brother is 6’6” and if I had to guess, Sol is going to be even taller.
I never knew my great-grandfather – or my grandfather, for that matter. They both died before I was born and the older I get, the more I find myself wishing I would have gotten to know them.
Or maybe not.
Henry David Thoreau said, “Things do not change; we change,” and the older I get the more I believe that to be true.
Good, bad, or indifferent, I’m not the same person I was 10 years ago and I doubt very seriously I’ll be the same person 10 years from now.
The thing is, I have mixed feelings about that. Deep down, I’m afraid by the time I’m finally satisfied with who I am, it will be too late. Then again, maybe it’s that sense of mortality that drives men my age to overthink most things – including birthdays.
Maybe Warren Zevon had it all figured out.
In October 2002, Zevon, who was most famously known for his 1978 hit, “Werewolves of London,” made his final appearance on Late Night with David Letterman.
Earlier that spring, Zevon, who had just turned 55, had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and was given mere months to live.
At Letterman’s request, he was the sole guest for the entire show.
Before Zevon sang his first of three songs, Letterman asked him if his approach to life and music had changed since he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
He told Letterman:
“You put more value on every minute...You know I always kinda thought I did that. I really always enjoyed myself. But it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every minute.”
Letterman asked if being aware of having terminal cancer gave Zevon some knowledge about life and death “that maybe I don’t know.”
Zevon answered thoughtfully:
“Not unless I know how much, how much you’re supposed to enjoy every sandwich.”
Enjoy every sandwich.
I remember watching Letterman that night and wondering what that phrase meant.
I was just a few years into my busy new career as a journalist by that point and I had a wife and three young sons at home.
At that particular moment in time, it seemed like all my attention was focused on work – and simply keeping those kids alive. Having three sons under the age of three (Solomon wouldn’t enter the scene for another couple of years) was chaotic to say the least.
We made the most of it – or at least we thought we did – but despite all of the smiles and laughter in the house – and particularly in the photographs posted on social media to put up a good front, I’m positive there wasn’t much enjoyment in the air.
Not even for sandwiches.
That’s probably where we went wrong. At least initially.
I’m not sure how you’re supposed to remind yourself to enjoy life when you’re in the thick of it, but the older I get, the more I realize that’s what we should do.
Especially on your birthday.
Life is too short not to celebrate the relationships we have cultivated and this year, I’m taking a page from Mr. Zevon in an attempt to enjoy every sandwich.
Some friends have decided to throw me a mid-decade birthday musical bonanaza Friday evening at Nick’s Ice House and you’re invited.
A number of local songwriters have signed on to perform including Becky McKeehan, Colt Browning, Allen and Mark Mann, Ben Steadman and the Easy Getdowns, Cary Hudson with Katrina Miller and Thomas Jackson, and last but not least, The Mississippi Shakedown.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve such a celebration, but I’m grateful to all who helped make it happen. It will be a wonderful night indeed.
When your birthday rolls around this year, my wish is that you take a moment to take stock in your life and while you’re at, perhaps you’ll also take a hint from Mr. Zevon to find a way to enjoy every sandwich.
Gustafson is the not-so-mild-mannered editor and publisher of The PineBelt NEWS and Signature Magazine. The week he was born, Gladys Knight and the Pips were the radio singing about that “Midnight Train to Georgia.”
