“…and I think it’s gonna’ rain today…”

(as a thematic extension of the Beaches soundtrack)

There were thunderstorms with a lot of lightning this morning. I was pretty sure there would be, not just because the forecast was calling for that. You see, almost every year for 39 years, it has rained on August 24. I can recall only one year (1993?) when it did not rain. (Perry has a photographic memory and can correct me if I’m wrong.)

Witness, for instance, an excerpt below from a grade 12 assignment in which each student in the class was to write a one-page autobiography. The assignment was issued sometime between studying Our Town and the end of the first semester. (I checked: I kept my grade 12 English notes.) I suppose the expectation back then was that nobody at 17 has done anything that warrants more than one page; today’s typical 17-year-old could no doubt write a novella. Here’s my introductory paragraph:

They say that into every life some rain must fall. On the twenty-fourth of day of August, 1968, this proverb was illustrated as roads turned muddy and still rain proceeded to descend. This was understandable, however, as my parents were expecting the arrival of a little drip of their own. Accordingly, almost every birthday I can recall has featured threatening rain clouds.

So, in summary, it’s my birthday once more, it has rained, and the current humidity suggests more rain might be in store.

As I mentioned to my cousin last week, I remember when 40 seemed like a number so far away I'd never get close in a million years. And now it’s looming ever nearer. A few months ago I was having difficulty coming to terms with 39. Surely there must be some mistake. I feel older than 20, but almost-40? Naw, can’t be. After a great deal of contemplation (and some therapy), I think I’ve embraced it now. I mean, what else am I gonna’ do? It’s not as if I have that many options: either I accept it or I live in denial. Come to think of it, I have read that Anita Loos, author of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, its sequel, and many screenplays of the “roaring ’20s,” shaved a number of years off her birthdate—like many other women of the time, I’m sure. And I always did admire my high school German and Math teacher for sticking to his guns and insisting he was 39, right up until the day he retired. For all I know, he’s still 39 today. To all of you who are younger than me, let me leave you with this choice tidbit to reflect on: “right now is the oldest you’ve ever been.” So don’t get too smug. Besides, in virtually no time you'll catch up and we'll all be 39 together.