I hesitated to share this with you, but here goes…<\/p>\n
I’ve had a love hate relationship with September 20th since 1991.<\/p>\n
It was my dad’s birthday. He was turned 36 that day. Or was it 37? Math is hard.<\/p>\n
That it was his birthday was in the back of my mind all day. Sometimes it was completely out of my mind, but then, at the most random moments I would think, I have to remember to wish him a happy birthday tonight when I see him<\/i>.<\/p>\n
I was staying with him on that day and the weeks prior because he was three blocks from the hospital where Jen was staying.<\/p>\n
Jen was that girl every boy has at least once in his life. That girl who made everything else fade into background noise, made the heart beat, made a boy want to be a man. She had long, thick auburn hair, freckles across the bridge of her nose, a crooked smile and a metric shit ton of gumption.<\/p>\n
I was in love with her before I knew her name.<\/p>\n
She made me fucking miserable.<\/p>\n
So, between the start of my sophomore year, to the middle of my junior year we tortured each other the way adolescent children do. She finally crushed me and I begged my dad to let me transfer to another school. He did so on the promise that I would fucking graduate. It was a tall order considering I failed more classes than I passed in the last year. But I promised, and he allowed me to transfer.<\/p>\n
While I was busy making good on my promise my Uncle Charlie died and Jen was the person I turned to. It was different. I was different. Maybe she was too.<\/p>\n
We were friends.<\/p>\n
Then my senior year came and went and I graduated with two whole credits to spare.<\/p>\n
I started dating. Two girls, in fact. I called her to rub it in.<\/p>\n
I was done the moment she said, hello. <\/i><\/p>\n
From June of 1990 to September 20, 1991 she was that thing in my life.<\/p>\n
We weren’t kids anymore, but we weren’t exactly adults either. We just, each of us, had a much better idea of who the fuck we were and who we wanted to be in this world.<\/p>\n
She was a good thing. Without me around to try forcing her to be what I wanted her to be, she became something better than I could have imagined.<\/p>\n
When I arrived at the hospital that morning the nurse said, she’s gone.<\/i><\/p>\n
I didn’t understand the words until another nurse explained them to me.<\/p>\n
Something inside of my broke. Eventually that thing atrophied and, when it did finally heal, didn’t quite work the way it used to.<\/p>\n
The rest of that day was spent in a haze. Lots of hugs. Lots of tears.<\/p>\n
Seeing people I love face the news that their firstborn child was dead did something to me, too.<\/p>\n
That night I went back to my dad’s house and, I don’t remember if I called him to tell him the news beforehand or if one of my friends did, but he knew. He did his best to hold me up. I just wanted to go to bed.<\/p>\n
I took a step into the room that used to be mine and remembered.<\/p>\n
I turned back to him apologizing for forgetting.<\/p>\n
Shut up, boy, I hate my birthday now. It’s always going to remind you of the worst day of your life. No father wants that. <\/i>
<\/i>Turns out, September 20, 1991 ended up being the second worst day of my life.<\/p>\n
He’d have been 62 today. Or maybe 63.<\/p>\n
Titty sprinkles!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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