It's Official: Mid-Life Crisis

Well, in fact, it's not anything like it, but if you believe the statisticians, and if the average American male lives to the age of 74, then the story called Read Mercer Schuchardt is half over as of today.

That's right, I turned 37.

No biggie.

Breakfast in bed, kids well-behaved, the love of the bride of my youth, and the St. Edward's Church pastor even called me up to the front to stand next to a 7-year old (who also had a birthday this weekend) while the whole congregation sang "Happy Birthday to You Two." It was embarrassing and funny, and I felt like a seven-year old again -- delicious.

Presents to report:
Rachel: a train ticket to Milan to find/buy an airbrush spray-booth (so we boys can paint our model airplanes without choking from fume inhalation)
Constance: a coupon for one hour of Oliver duty (her term for watching the baby) to "do something with mom." I think she's on to us.
Mercer: a coupon for "one week of no arguing." One of my favorite presents.
Chesterton: a coupon for one house-cleaning (i.e., I'll clean up my Legos)
Walker: a trifecta of chocolate bars from the gas station next door. Didn't know I liked dark chocolate as much as I do.
Jasper: "What do I get? Can I have some chocolate?"
Oliver: his first step taken, and soon to be a complete ambulatory biped
Mom sent a pair of boots, Dad sent a nice e-mail. I had my absolute favorite dinner, lamb shank (gigot d'agnello in Italiano) over a bed of orzo with tomato garlic sauce, zucchini, carrots, and a carrot cake and then oh, joy, a key-lime pie to die for.

I remember as a kid being thrilled by the idea of getting to do whatever you wanted on your birthday -- for me this always meant that I got to ride in the front seat. As we still don't have our own car, I kept secretly hoping that someone who did would pick us up in their car just so I could claim this special privilege.

In the afternoon, we had a double-wave of well-wishers, students and colleagues alike, who brought all manner of delicious wines, desserts, and chocolates with them. You cannot enter a Swiss home without offering a box of chocolates, it's pretty much the law.


So here I am, 37 and as many pounds overweight, blowing out my birthday candles with the help of my triple chin, fat and happy as the day I was born.

I'm a lucky boy. And I have a great family, great job, and great friends, and so much more to be thankful for.