I always hated my birthday.
Some of that, I’m sure, comes from the fact that I didn’t really have any friends when I was a kid, so my birthday often felt like a reminder that that there was no one to invite to a party that would never happen, but it was also because my birthday is always within a week of Christmas. In terms of importance, I don’t stand much of a chance against Jesus. People will always pick his parties over mine. And his parties are everywhere.
When I finally did get some friends, none of them could come to my birthday parties anyway because they always fell on the same day as some family commitment or another. It being the holiday season, I had no choice but to accept the fact that I would likely never be celebrating my birthday any time near my actual birthday because it was too inconvenient.
Yesterday was my first Father’s Day.
It was like getting a new birthday, but this one was actually on a convenient day for most people. I got congratulations, well-wishes, and the greatest present in the whole wide world:
I also got the second greatest present in the world, which consisted of matching Team Finland outfits for me and my daughter.
So I think that I’m going to just change my birthday to Father’s Day each year. It would make sense; I am definitely not the same man I was this time last year. Abby changed all of that forever.