When I was kid I couldn't wait to have another birthday. The fact that it was so close to Christmas actually never worked against me. My parents, sensing that December birthdays could really stink for a kid, always went well out of their way to make sure that mine was celebrated properly.

Now, I never got great gifts. I always received my birthday gifts with a disclaimer. "Now, I know this isn't much but Christmas is just a week away!" I was always fond of pointing out that it wasn't really a week away, it was eight days. The sucky gifts, however, never stopped them from making a big to-do over my birthday.

I think it's always a difficult time for my parents. They remember what it was like all those years ago when I was born. In 1969 no one really knew a whole lot about Spina Bifida. No one knew if I'd live to see my first birthday, let alone my 33rd. They had a lot of fear and uncertainly hurled their way. I know it wasn't easy. They were incredibly brave when some doctors told them that the surgeries that the "new guy" wanted to perform were foolish. Well, that "new guy" is now considered the country's expert on SB. I was his first patient.

So, now, I have another birthday. Another milestone, another year to reflect upon. I don't make a big to-do about it. I leave that for my parents. Instead, I choose to make a big to-do over them.