25

In 1989, a young mother cracked open the front screen door of her row home in Upper Darby, PA and carefully maneuvered an occupied baby carrier outdoors.  She gently placed the round, cheerful creature’s vessel onto the cement and fumbled to grab her camera.  She pointed the apparatus toward the child and focused and refocused the lens, trying to capture the perfect moment.  Here is her final shot.       

Today the baby has a four-year college degree, a full-time job in an office, and a gold watch that she wears on her left wrist.  She recently purchased her first reasonably-priced car with good fuel economy.  She is still looking for love but aren’t we all.

I - the baby - turned 25 yesterday.

To celebrate, I spent a lovely, snowy day with friends, coworkers, and family members that I love.  I taught my regular ballet and jazz classes in the morning and discussed the future of the dance academy over tea and Guinness stew in the afternoon.  In the evening, I dragged my family into Center City Philadelphia to sip on expensive cocktails in a cozy speakeasy.  The day concluded with a boisterous ride home and an impromptu meal of plain pizza from our favorite family-owned place down the street to temper the strong drinks.  Simple day.  Simple pleasures.

Birthday celebrations in my family are traditionally modest – a few gifts, a homemade dinner.  My mother makes the same yellow cake with chocolate icing; my sister and I decorate it as silly as possible.  One year I meticulously wrote “Poop” in colored nonpareils on my sister’s cake.  A white sprinkle outline in the shape of a heart framed the hilarity.  At the party, my aunt complimented my masterpiece.  “Aw, what a beautiful cake.  What does it say?...Oh, oh dear.”

Having a winter birthday has always been a bit of a challenge.  The weather is fickle and uncomfortable.  Mother Nature never guarantees that she will cooperate enough to allow for a party.  For my 16^th birthday, I combated the characteristic dreariness of the season by choosing to theme my event “Beach Party.”  I wore a pink sherbet dress and put boogie boards in the living room.  Palm tree garlands hugged the mantel over the fire place.  The Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds” album floated through the house.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.        

I don’t lament my arrival at the half-way point of my twenties.  In fact, I have already managed to extinguish any hints of quarter-life crises woes.  The first four years of this decade were very difficult.  I lived through many incredible, terrifying, unforgettable, excruciating experiences.  I would not mind easing the growing pains with the maturity and security of age.  In the next five years, I look forward to contributing more, offering more to others.  I want to repay those who have helped me along the way – my family, my educators, my community.  They deserve it.  Above all, I look forward to continuing my journey, learning more about the intricacies of life, and gaining greater independence – keeping my feet firmly on that yellow brick road.

Dr. Sparkle