February: The month lots of people's parents were "getting it on".

Today is G's birthday! I love when it's G's birthday. Because for the magical two weeks between G's birthday and mine, we are one year closer in age. The two weeks of the year I feel less like an old bag or a creepy cradle robber, the two weeks when I simply feel "more mature," or "seasoned." And then my birthday comes and it's back to waiters asking "...And for your son?" when we dine out.

Oh, I kid. He's only *mumble* years younger than I. Nothing, really. It only makes a difference every once in awhile. Like when we realize that while he was in Texas making the difficult transition to middle school, I was a homeless ex-pat living in Amsterdam, X-ing my brains out at the Melweg every night with Sigue Sigue Sputnik.

But no matter the age difference--if we were twenty years apart--I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, for the most important reason: I admire him. It's the most crucial part of a relationship, a lesson I was taught at nineteen, but unfortunately was unable or unwilling to apply to my life until I met G.

The lesson came from my boss at the time, Dr. Walker. I waltzed into work all high on the blush of new love (yet another singer/songwriter/guitar player), and proceeded to ooze about him, talk about how cute he was and how cool he was and how well we got along. Now Dr. Walker had heard this schtick from me before, had witnessed my heart get crushed by a string of egotistical, emotionally unavailable lotharios; so she raised one eyebrow and said, "So this young man...do you admire him?"

"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed, and gushed on again about how smart and cool and cute he was.

"I know you're attracted to him, I asked if you admire him. His entire person. His instincts, his politics, how he moves in the world, how he affects it, how it effects him. I know he's someone you want to be with, but is he someone you'd like to be?" And then she pointed to the pictures I had tacked to the bulletin board next to my desk: My Grandfather, Amelia Earhart, Nelson Mandela, Flannery O'Connor, Elvis Costello, Mark Morris, Bishop Desmund Tutu, Ghandi. Her hand rested on a post-card portrait of Georgia O'Keefe and Alfred Stieglitz.

That shut my ass up for the rest of the day. Until I got home, and got a call from mister groovy-pants, who said I should come to his gig that night because he was going to do a song he'd written about me. I was Nineteen, folks.

It took years before I understood Dr. Walkers point. It took until I met G. Not only do I love him, am attracted to him, love his company, his smarts, his heart; but I'm just so proud of him, I'm made better simply standing next to him. I've never dated anyone who I'd like to be before. I've loved, but I've never aspired. It's pretty amazing. He's amazing.

Happy Birthday G. Thank you.

Posted by Antigeist at November 8, 2004 02:24 PM