I turned 31 years old today. And I have to say… 30 was a good age!
I’d looked forward to my 30s since my mid-20s. I know, weird, right? But I always felt my 30s would be the years that I settled in to life. I figured out where I was headed and got there. It would be my banner decade of life.
And so far? It’s going that direction. In the last 365 days, I’ve suddenly felt a lot of wisdom about things: financially and career-wise. I’ve started to build a confidence in my career goals, and in the same breath I’ve found a want to do anything it takes to get there. Its not the whole, “Oh this is what I want so it should happen right NOW” mindset that I think I had an element of previously. No, now its more, “This is what I want, and I need to learn how to get there… and then DO THAT.”
So, within that fact, my 30s have, already in the first year of it, been a journey of wonderfully positive proportions. In fact at this rate, 31 should be even better! And here is hoping I am right about that.
Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday to me!
I know. That sounds like some bad “dirty joke” pun, but it’s true! My grandpa was the milk man. And if he were still alive, he’d have been 89 years old today.
I always took great pride in being my grandpa’s granddaughter. I remember introducing myself to people growing up, and they would get this thoughtful look on their face.
“Any relation to the old milk man we used to have here?” And I grin from ear-to-ear and confirm that, “Yup. That’s my grandpa! … What’s he up to today? Oh he’s a jack-of-all-trades handyman around town.”
“Ah… good… good. I remember the time…”
Everyone always had a story about grandpa. It wasn’t until after he died that I heard the story of him pulling a family out of a burning building while on his milk route. I think that one is my favorite one of them all. That and the fact that he raised seven kids with my grandma… yes, seven. They were married over 50 years before death did they part, when my grandma passed away.
Oh and did I mention he served in WWII? Yup. He was a cook! And man… those cooks on M*A*S*H? Yeah, they weren’t my grandpa. He made GREAT food. Best hamburgers ever. EVER. Whataburger? In-N-Out. Pffffft. They WISH they were as good as grandpa’s burgers. They WISH.
Grandpa and Grandma
By the way, you know how I’m an Aggie? Yeah, my grandpa worked as a cook at Sbisa mess hall back in the day. So, you see, my ties to Texas A&M go way back. (My Uncle Milton, Mom’s brother, worked at TAMU at one time as well!) The first time I ate dinner in Sibsa, I looked around and smiled, knowing Grandpa was smiling down on me as well.
I remember when I got accepted to Texas A&M, my grandpa was in a VA nursing home. I got him an “Aggie’s Grandpa” bumper sticker for his motorized wheelchair. And, you know, he put it on it and rode around with it proudly displayed!
Grandpa always said I reminded him of my grandma when she was younger. And I think that’s why he got so upset the first time I colored my hair. I still remember feeling guilty when he gave me that look of disapproval of my choice to lighten my hair.
But, I think deep down, he knew I was me and I was going to do my own thing. That or Grandma set him straight on that. haha!!! Who knows.
I just know that if anyone asks me about my grandparents, I smile and say, “My grandpa was the milk man.” and if anyone will listen long enough, I’ll tell them all about him.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa! Make sure you dance with Grandma in heaven today and celebrate your special day… just the way I know you two danced the day you joined her up there. You had a special love… and you’ve always been a role model for me and, I don’t doubt, all your kids and grandkids. I love you!
