Recently, I marked yet another milestone on my stoic journey through this existence we all call life — my 68th birthday. Yup, 68 long years since some long-forgotten physician, midwife, police officer or taxi driver (the exact circumstances of my birth were always, at best, both confusing and contradictory) patted me on my ass and said, "Okay kid, go get in the game. Play hard, play fair, and don't get too many penalty flags and always remember, don't drink and no tattoos!"
Coming from a strong Irish Catholic family, I always felt my birth certificate was nothing more than an apology from the Vatican Family Planning Center for the inordinately high percentage of failure of its rhythm method of birth control.
When you stop to consider