So 17 years ago today, the best kid evar got birthed. Being the best kid evar, she knows which uncle loves her best, which only improves her standing among lesser kids. She's such a sweet kid that she lets her other uncles think they love her best, which is meet and right, because they're actual blood uncles, and that stuff's pretty important in whatever part of Transylvania her daddy's side of the family hails from, so no foul.
Like many wee folk of her time, Planet was borned in a place that is gone. I vividly remember standing out on 24th Street with her daddy on the evening she was born (or the evening after--time has fuzzed memory, though I suspect she was born in the late afternoon and my arrival was a day late). We smoked unfathomably cheap cigars. I didn't know it at the time, but I was about to embark on a 9-year odyssey of...well, I'm not sure what, but I hadn't yet embarked on it. It was the best of times, though any subsequent bumps in the road have been levelled off pretty considerably by her presence in this life. Planet has been one of the most secure grounding influences of my supposed adulthood, followed years later by wee ones of my own (sort of).
My favorite things to do with Planet are: 1) warping her young mind, which is more difficult than it probably sounds, given the unmatchable skill of her daddy and her uncles (and, probably less known to her, her grandpa) in this regard; 2) exposing her to violent athletic events; and 3) boggling that she's actually 17 freaking years old.
I'm looking forward to doing all three in a few weeks (I'll do my best to minimize the boggling), when we embark, with her daddy and Ilse, on a short road trip to the place I was birthed. That's gonna be awesome.
Happy freakin' birthday and infinitely more, Planet, and thanks, as always, for not making me sit on your porch with a shotgun.
Photograph shamelessly stolen from bDr, without permission, without shame, and without fear of reprisal.
A Creel of Eels
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