Birthdays

May is birthday month. Not mine. Not my wife's. But it is my son's and daughter's and a whole lot of other people I know. Forgive me and avoid this space for the next few weeks if you fear the risk of running smack dab into a collection of birthday reminiscences. It may not happen a whole lot, but if it does, consider yourself warned.

May 9th is one of those dates I always remember. Even if I don't see Greg for the better part of a year, I always remember the day. I'm fortunate that way. I made a lot of close friendships in childhood and a fair number of them remain to this day. Come to think of it, quite a few people I know who are my age still have contact with childhood friends. I am going to guess that is owing to the ready availability of electronic communications. Starting with the telephone and continuing up to the present era of social media, we have grown up instantly and effortlessly connected. I certainly don't remember such a long reach of friendship in my parents' generation. I'm not sure it was any more or less meaningful but it certainly took more effort to remain in touch with old friends in the old days.

Be that as it may, Happy Birthday Greg. I will never forget that birthday early on in our acquaintance when you took Neal and me to Yamato. In a time when the Century Plaza Hotel was a dazzling jewel giving credibility to a place called Century City, in a time when sushi meant absolutely nothing to probably 98% of all Americans, your parents took us to an incredible, and incredibly rare, Japanese restaurant where we were introduced to ice sculpture, sushi, sashimi, and teppan-yaki style food prepared right before our eyes. And all the while your Dad fueled our imaginations with stories of Geishas and Japanese bath houses. It was all so sophisticated. And why not? It was Los Angeles. And 1967. And we were 10 years old.