The Big Three-Oh

Happy birthday to me!

I'm not going to write about how much I don't want to be turning 30. Depressive ranting about unacheived goals and general failure are no fun to read, so instead, I'll write about an ex-boyfriend from college, Drew, who never forgets my birthday.

My relationship with Drew was one of those fairly undefined things--while we were together I don't think I ever called him my boyfriend, but since we stopped seeing each other, he's most certainly an ex-boyfriend. Funny how definitions work.

Anyway, Drew and I met in a Women's Studies class. Classic! He was one of 3 guys and since he was cute and nice, I made a point of sitting near him every day. So did most of the rest of the 30 girls. But somehow we ended up talking and going to the park (my standard college first date) and making out and then we were dating.

Considerate, sweet, and pre-law, Drew was unlike anyone I had ever dated, and until Matt, the nicest guy I had ever been with. And although though he wasn't Jewish, even my grandmother, my Bubbie, was in love with him. Since KU was only about 45 minutes from my Bubbie's house, we had dinner with her one night. Drew listened politely to Bubbie's discertation about a squirrel who had followed her on her daily walk because he was really my grandfather's ghost (this was about a month after my grandfather had died, when Bubbie was prone to inappropriate bouts of laughter like the time during the Passover seder she started laughing so hard at the rabbis' names that she peed on the dining room seat a little). Not only did Drew give validity to the grandfather-squirrel idea, but he also sent Bubbie a thank you note for dinner. A thank you note! That was it--he could do no wrong in my relatives' eyes.

After we were together for about three months, Drew graduated. I was 20 and remained at KU in order to receive the two most worthless degrees on the planet (English and Metalsmithing, anyone?).

That year, Drew emailed me to wish me a happy birthday. Do you want to know how old I am, dear reader? So old that I didn't have a computer. So old that I checked my email account every few weeks, whenever I had to go to the Campus Computer Lab to type or print something.

For the last ten years, Drew has continued his tradition of emailing me. Over the decade, he's gone to law school, gotten married, and moved to India, but every May he remembers to send me a note. It makes me smile. And when you've spent the last 2 weeks dreading something, a smile counts for a lot.