I celebrated my 51st birthday just a few days ago and it was wonderful. I really have nothing to complain about. Ralph Starling mentioned it during the opening announcements at church and everybody who shook my hand on the way out after worship wished me a happy birthday. And then my Facebook friends outdid themselves; I spent a good part of my birthday afternoon smiling through all their good wishes and funny comments. I went to see a great movie that evening (“The Blind Side” at the Byrd Theater) and then caught up with some friends for dinner where we talked and laughed until way past my bedtime. As I said, it was a wonderful day. I have nothing to complain about. Except…
When I was talking to my daughter Catherine on the phone last night I realized that the Daylight Savings time change had occurred on my birthday, that the whole “Spring Forward” thing where you set your clocks up an hour at 2:00 a.m. had happened at 2:00 a.m. on my special day. Which means, of course, that out of the 24 hours allotted to every man, woman, and child for birthday celebration I (and the others who were born on March 14) only got 23!
I didn’t think that was fair. Catherine didn’t think it was fair. I told her I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but somehow I was going to get that lost hour back. And then it dawned on us both at the same moment: “Fall Back.” That’s right, when the time changes back in the fall I can reclaim the lost hour of my birthday. I can get up at 2:00 in the morning, set my clock back an hour, and party like it’s 1959 (my idea). I can crank up the Beatles “You Say It’s Your Birthday” and dance around the living room in my pajamas (Catherine’s idea). Either way, or another way I haven’t even thought of yet,
I’m getting my hour back.