Just after midnight on Friday evening, I picked up my cell phone and typed in a brief text message.
“It’s February 3rd in Philadelphia! Happy 25th Birthday!”
It seems likes it’s only been a scant year since Raina learned to walk by grasping the waistband of my pants and tugging them down. No more than a few months since I accidently broke her hand by slamming it in the door of an old white Pinto station wagon. And only a couple of weeks since she was last in Philadelphia, camping out in my living room and playing at the church.
When I talked to Raina today, she sounded happy (and a little intoxicated) and was being celebrated by friends. Happy Birthday Rainy, never worry about how old you’re getting, because I will always be just a little bit older.