Dad's 40th birthday

My dad turns 40 today. No really, that’s what he said Friday night. We were siting down to dinner at Sel de la Terre in Boston to celebrate. He said he’s been celebrating his 39th birthday for long enough now (since the year man landed on the moon, and Joe Namath's New York Jets shocked the Baltimore Colts in the Super Bowl). It was time to turn 40, I suppose. Leap Day babies have got nothing on Robert Greene. The fact that I’m the youngest of his six kids and I’m 45 isn’t an issue. Dad’s judgment on that head-scratching conundrum: “That’s your problem”.

I gave him his 80th, uh, I mean 40th birthday present last year. Even if it was 12 months early, a 10-day vacation to Hawaii trumps pretty much everything, other than a 30-day vacation to Hawaii. Nobody offered that, so I win.

I’m the first to admit how fortunate I am to have a father whose birthday I can celebrate, and even better, a father I’m proud to say is my dad. He has always been, and continues to be, my idol. I probably said this last year, when I first explained why I was voluntarily embarking on such an unusual journey. Most middle aged men probably don't book 10 days in an island paradise with a parent, but I didn’t give it a second thought. It made perfect sense to me. He’s the one I’ve always been leaned on. There’s nobody else I would have considered asking to be my best man. I’ve always known that no matter what, he’s understood what made me tick. I’m a Red Sox fan because he instilled the passion of the game in me, and I’m a sailor because he showed me the value of an easy beam reach.

Dad shares his birthday with the most fascinating cross section of people you’ve probably heard of: Benjamin Franklin, Muhammad Ali, Mack Sennett, Anne Bronte, Andy Kaufman, Al Capone, Anton Chekhov, James Earl Jones, Jim Carrey, Vidal Sassoon, Michelle Obama, Kid Rock and Dwayne Wade. Or should I say they share their birthday with him.

Happy 40th birthday, dad.