23

It was precisely 23 years ago today, well, yesterday, that my father had to forfeit the tennis tournament he would have undoubtedly won (as he likes to say) in order to meet my mother at the hospital. I made them go in on July 3rd and perhaps in an early exercise of my supreme stubbornness, did not make my appearance until the following morning. And ever since it seems to be: I like to do things in my own time, in my own way, when I’m ready.

Andy Rooney once said that the last birthday that’s any good is 23. Well Andy Rooney, I can’t say that I’m your biggest fan, but I’m hoping you got this one right.

23, I feel good about you.
Don’t let me down.