Today’s anniversary highlights an unusual perspective: not celebrating my birthday

It’s the 53rd anniversary of the day I moved to San Francisco

When I was a kid, I always dreaded the Sunday closest to my birthday, watching aunts, uncles, and cousins showing up, with somebody carrying the telltale pink bakery box that I dreaded to see.

Eventually, everyone was going to be singing that stupid song to me, while I stood there, embarrased, not wanting to be the focus of their attention.