Happy 79th birthday to my dad!

My awesome father taught me how to throw a football (sorry that pastime didn’t stick) and cheat at cribbage (or that one) and swear more creatively than the other kids on the playground (that TOTALLY did), showed me how to drive a stick shift even on a steep hill, instilled in me a fascination with history, bought me My First Toolbox™ when I bought my first house, embraced me wholly as his gay son in an era when other dads would treat homosexuality as a family shame, dutifully cheered me on whether I was in a boring show or running a boring race, patiently and determinedly worked to help bring me back from and daily manage the unfathomable depths of bipolar depression—often just by telling me he’s glad I’m here—and accepted his blindness from macular degeneration with grace and humor and dignity. He continues to set a daily example of kindness and altruism that inspires me to try to be loving and decent and fair in every situation I encounter. I'm guessing you're probably having this read to you, Dad, so tell Mom to say this part with dramatic emphasis: I love you!

Happy anniversary to my parents!

In the midst of our country's paralyzing uncertainty, I want to take a moment commemorate a ray of enduring joy: My parents are celebrating their 54th wedding anniversary today. Like their parents before them, they continue to set a quiet example of unbridled altruism and unquestioning kindness, whether they're securing food, clothing and shelter for people in need; providing comfort and care for sick friends and strangers alike; prioritizing their lives around the needs and activities of their grandchildren; taking in their broken son and working fiercely to repatriate him through endless ups and downs; or simply providing a freshly baked pie for someone in need of delicious homemade goodness. They face challenges like my dad's blindness head-on, invite lonely people to join us for Christmas dinner and good-naturedly endure constant ribbing from their children. The example they set for us is so genuine and so high that I fear I can never do it justice in the way I live my life. They love us unconditionally and we gratefully love them back. I'm proud to call them my parents and I'm thrilled that I can laud them publicly so the people who are important to me can celebrate their anniversary with us.

Happy birthday to my mom!

Happy 77th birthday to my tirelessly, modestly awesome mom who -- not to make this about me after only ten words -- has made it her personal mission to coordinate doctors, dole out ever-changing (seriously -- they change pretty much every week) prescriptions, endure hours of medically related on-hold music, battle insurance companies, dig deep into online drug-interaction research, and sometimes just pour orange juice and fold laundry for her eternally grateful -- though sometimes exhaustedly unable to show it -- big ol' bipolar son, who undeniably couldn't survive this train ride without her.

When she's not enjoying that little hobby, she's a devoted grandmother to the -- and I swear I'm being empirically objective here -- smartest, awesomeist, above-averageist, talentedist children ever to exchange inappropriate texts with their compulsively corrupting uncle who once again managed to make this tribute about himself. She and my dad are also emotional and moral and eternally inspiring community pillars who waste no time securing donated coats or shoes or furniture or shelter or food or transportation for sometimes complete strangers who desperately need it. In that vein, she also sometimes brings unnecessary butter to my sister's house; buys my dad an ever-expanding library of V-neck sweaters in a gradient palette of dark dad colors; dotingly acquiesces to our relentlessly bellicose cat's increasingly finicky tastes in wet food, blankets and inconvenient places to vomit; and occasionally indulges herself in post-season vests from the Talbots clearance rack. She loves her family unconditionally and we love her unconditionally back, even though she dances with her wrists out and puts onion salt in everything she cooks.

Last summer she weathered major shoulder surgery and months of recovery in a borrowed recliner in the living room with tenacity and courage and grace and humor and mountains of food and organized rides from a lifetime of dear, devoted friends. This year she's a 40-year cancer survivor, and I'm posting this picture from her everyone-had-to-wear-pink 30-year survivor celebration not because we all look young and attractive in it -- but now that you mention it, I guess we do -- but because it radiates the profound joy she brings to her family, her community and everyone she comes in contact with. Except the cat, who demands that her tuna be prepared only with the white sauce from the pink can, which is laboriously difficult to find.

Happy 78th birthday to my dad!

Happy 78th birthday to my dad, who taught me how to throw a football (sorry that pastime didn’t stick) and cheat at cribbage (or that one) and swear more creatively than the other kids on the playground (that TOTALLY did), showed me how to drive a stick shift even on a steep hill, instilled in me a fascination with history, bought me My First Toolbox™ when I bought my first house, embraced me wholly as his gay son in an era when other dads would treat homosexuality as a family shame, dutifully cheered me on whether I was in a boring show or running a boring race, patiently and determinedly worked to help bring me back from and daily manage the unfathomable depths of bipolar depression — often just by telling me he was glad I’m here — and accepted his blindness from macular degeneration with grace and humor and dignity. He continues to set a daily example of kindness and altruism that inspires me to try to be loving and decent and fair in every situation I encounter. I'm guessing you're probably having this read to you, Dad, so tell Mom to say this part with dramatic emphasis: I love you!