Happy Birthday to Me!
I am 45 years old. This means I am old enough to be your grandfather, barely, assuming you are fifteen, I and my oldest child both married at fifteen and both had a child within the year; or assuming the three ages average to fifteen.
Georgia allows for such marriage with parental consent; Michigan with parental consent and approval from the probate court; North Carolina any age, with parental consent, if the bride is pregnant or has born a child. California has no statutory minimum, those under 18 must receive approval of a superior court judge and parental consent. Canada, 16 with parental consent, but 14 with judicial consent (because in Canada the courts know better than the parents, I suppose); Mexico 16 for males or 14 for females only with parental or legal consent. In Iran, 13. In Yemen the age of marriage is the onset of puberty, which tradition sets at age 9.
So it is not likely I am old enough to be your grandfather, but it is legally possible in certain jurisdictions. In Switzerland, I am not old enough to be your grandfather, and will not be until 54.
What did I get for by birthday, you ask? I reply in three words: BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER.
Every present was one that I asked for, or put on a wish list, but which I had entirely forgotten about until unwrapping. This was the perfect way to enjoy having a bad memory: every moment is a pleasant surprise. Friends whom we invited over for a visit showed up only after we thought we missed them. Another surprise!
I since I both visited my sister and my friends, my wife baked not one birthday cake, but three. (Cake number two was ravished by son number two in a particularly brutal display of chocolate blitzkrieg. Chocolate was everywhere. It was like watching Gibson’s THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, except if the redeeming substance that washed away sins was chocolate, or if when the Jews called down a curse upon themselves, they asked for chocolate.)
Loot? What loot did I get, you ask? I got a book, another book, and another book. The first book was a book about books. The second book was a book. The third book was a book I read as a kid and which I hope to read to my kid, to get him interested in books.
What else? A flashlight, no doubt to use in reading books, and a razor, no doubt to allow me to shave so that my whiskers do not get in the way when I read books. I also got a fancy mug and a sweater, both of which I can drink from or wear (though it is less comfortable to drink from the sweater and wear the mug) while reading a book. I did not get a giant, perfect ruby to be used in the construction of a giant space-laser array, so that I can take over the world, but maybe next year.
Oh, and there are two more books on order, that haven’t arrived yet.
On Saturday I went to a Science Fiction convention and met my editor, and we talked about books. And my wife met a man who, if he likes her book and buy it, will be her editor. Both the editor and the possibly editor-to-be expressed regret that they had not gotten around to their tasks yet, so we remain patient and hopeful. I served on panels discussing books. And she held a writer’s workshop on how to write books.
My wife (BEST. WIFE. EVER. ) in addition to baking me three cakes, granted me three wishes. I used my first Birthday Wish on my wife to get her to go out and do an errand while I took a nap, the second to command a burrito from the burrito factory which she picked up, and I used by third and last Birthday Wish to force her to watch MASTER AND COMMANDER-FAR SIDE OF THE WORLD with me, a movie I think is simply the finest film of the last ten years, but which she would not have watched had it not been for the power of the Wish. Turns out she enjoyed the movie for a reason entirely invisible to my masculine eyes: apparently Russel Crowe is Da Bomb, and the Napoleonic-era uniforms show off a man’s sexy leg to best advantage.
Three perfect wishes. Eat your heart out, Darby O’Gill.
About John C Wright
John C. Wright is a practicing philosopher, a retired attorney, newspaperman, and newspaper editor, and a published author of science fiction. Once a Houyhnhnm, he was expelled from the august ranks of purely rational beings when he fell in love; but retains an honorary title.
