Yo Dad, it’s your birthday. Just in case you’ve forgotten (because old age does that), you’re sixty today. Jeez that’s not exactly spring-chicken material any more, is it? Not to matter, although you may be more akin to an older, scragglier rooster than a cute, fluffy chick you are wise. And wise is good. One day I hope to be as sagacious as you. To know that the best kind of birthday involves eschewing all forms of modern life and retreating to the wilds of Tassie for a five-night hike. To party it up with the drop-bears and slithery snakes rather than people. I mean, who want’s a nagging elder daughter telling you regularly that you are officially eligible for a seniors card? You know you love me, deep down there somewhere. But in all honesty, Happy Birthday. You’ve proven over the years that age really don’t mean a thang. That your bones may get a little older, a little creakier, the muscles a little tighter, but that doesn’t stop you, no way. You’ve also taught me how to make a bangin’ batch of ‘Bushwalker Biscuits’. One of the many important things in life. Continue reading
