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Counting My Blessings

Dear Friend,

Yesterday was my oldest daughter’s birthday. She turned nine years old. She said that she was afraid that no one seemed to care that it was her birthday anymore. So I asked her about her day. The text of the interview is below:

Q. “So, what did you do for your birthday?”
A. “Well, I went to school, ’cause it was a schoolday. At school the kids and teacher sang “Happy Birthday” to me in Spanish (they always do it that way) and we ate cookies. That night my family took me out to eat at my favorite Japanese restaurant. They sang happy birthday to me while beating a drum, and made a face carved out of oranges for me for dessert. Then when we got home my aunt brought over a vanilla cake with chocolate icing and everybody (except dad, who was in the bathroom) sang happy birthday to me. That was yesterday. Today, after school and karate practice my great-aunt made me a giant strawberry shortcake – 8 inches tall! Everybody sang “Happy Birthday” to me again. [Hugh’s Note: do we have to pay royalties for all of that singing?] Daddy, I’m sad that nobody notices my birthday anymore. Do you think anybody loves me?”

Moral of this story? We all feel sorry for ourselves once in a while. When you do, count your blessings. Be thankful for everything you have. It sounds corny, but it is actually quite profound. I do it. So trust me. You just have to give it a try.

All the best,

Hugh

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