People are always celebrating birthdays, clogging up message boards with wishing one another happy birthdays. Not that I’m jealous, I’m all about birthdays. It’s kind of an annual reminder that this one day, someone (hopefully) is thinking about us. That’s why for me, my best birthdays are ones where friends just call me up, tell me they were thinking about me, maybe tell me that they love me; and my favorite “gift” is a bunch of us getting together to hang out (though cash is a great number two gift).

But I’ve come to the recent conclusion that one day is simply not enough.

So in my efforts to be consistent with my beliefs that life begins at conception, I’m officially celebrating my entire gestation period. However, to figure out when exactly the celebrations should begin, this required some investigation on my part. And, as you can imagine, some lively conversations with my parents.

The conversations weren’t as awkward as you may imagine. My father once explained the finer points of the “birds and the bees” to me at the breakfast table, using hand models that still has me scarred. He had also long regaled us with stories about how he knew that was his because if I was his, I would have to be born on May 1st. I showed up a day early, apparently eager for the world to be blessed by me. My mom is an angry Jamaican woman (a more redundant phrase you’ll never read than “angry Jamaican woman”). Similar to what I hear about Greek people, Jamaicans are intensely proud and fiercely defend their culture. She loves to paint this image of herself as a proper, ever so refined lady. Though this sometimes runs afoul of her Jamaican country girl self.

I hate to break it to you people, but this personality was not developed in a vacuum.

Obviously, to quote the great philosopher, Terrell Owens, “I love me some me.” I love me a lot. I love the way I look. I love the way I think. I love the way I behave. I love my quirks. What drew me to my wife? How much she loved me. Not everyone is capable of this kind of self-love. It’s a gift.

Unfortunately, the words of that Jesus guy keep haunting me: “Love others as you love yourself.” So I have a lifetime of work ahead of me.

Anyway, on July 26th, 1969 at 3:15 in the morning, that precious bit of sperm met with that fated egg and Maurice Gerald Broaddus was conceived. Everyone may officially commence to swim in Lake Me!

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Comment on this bit of rantus interruptus anyway you want (I don’t know where you’re reading it from) but if you want to guarantee me seeing it, do so at my message board.