I was born on August 11, 1962, at 6:20 a.m. There’s nothing particularly interesting about that, but I do like my birthday. I’ve always thought of it as MY day. I feel bad for people who share their birthdays with other big events. I’ve had friends born on Christmas, New Years Day, Pearl Harbor Day, Independence Day, Bastille Day—you name it, not to mention the unfortunate multiple-birth siblings of the world. My own parents shared a birthday!!

I don’t require a lot for my birthday. I don’t need presents or cakes or cards, even though I always get something. Then again, if I got NOTHING, I’d probably pout. Mostly, though, I just enjoy knowing it’s my birthday. It feels like I can do anything I want on my birthday, but I can’t. I usually work on my birthday, and I don’t want to do that.

Oddly though, I don’t remember details of many of my birthdays–I’ve had quite a few after all. My best birthday was probably No. 8. We were on vacation at Yellowstone Park. I got a Pete Rose baseball bat (still have it, by the way) and a baseball glove (chewed up by a dog long ago). My Aunt Norma gave me a collection of things she’d seen me beg for at various gifts shops around the park. The bag of marbles was the best.         

Of course, my birthday isn’t the ONLY thing that ever happened on the 11th. When I was small, I learned from the back of a baseball card that outfielder Vada Pinson was born on August 11. Vada Pinson is largely forgotten, but he was one great ball player. That’s my earliest memory of realizing that I couldn’t lay exclusive claim to 8/11. Nevertheless, I’m glad I don’t share my birthday with a bunch of significant events. I remember a kid who was visiting his grandparents in my neighborhood when I was a wee lad. His name might have been Robert. He was also born on August 11. I didn’t care much for that. My friend Jamie was born on August 12, and I kind of liked that for some reason. Up until his death a few years ago, we would call each other on the 11^th and 12^th with happy birthday wishes.      

So, what’s the point here? Oh, my birthday. I did a little digging to find out exactly with whom and what I share my day. Here are few things:

• Fred Smith, founder of FedEx, was born on the 11th. My middle son works for FedEx.

• No less interesting is the fact that steel magnate Andrew Carnegie died on the 11^th. My oldest son graduated from Carnegie Mellon University.

• The Apollo 11 astronauts left quarantine on August 11, 1969—my 7^th birthday–three weeks after they landed on the moon. They landed on the moon on July 20, 1969—my wife’s 7^th birthday! Mind. Blown.

• Another oddity: Steve Wozniak was born on this day, and I own an iPhone.
• The Cincinnati Reds retired Johnny Bench’s number on my 22nd birthday. Bench was my favorite player.

• The Green Bay Packers were formed. Totally unrelated, but Al Qaeda was also formed on my birthday.

• The ill-fated Weimar Constitution was declared. That didn’t sit well with my bellicose German relations.

• Babe Ruth hit his 500^th home run on August 11.

• Jackson Pollock died.

• TV talk show host Mike Douglas was both born and died on the 11^th.

• Hulk Hogan: August 11 birthday boy.

• Then, there’s poor little Guttorm of Norway who died on this day. I don’t know how they know the exact day someone died almost 1000 years ago, but Wikipedia says so. Guttorm was the King of Norway, but he died at four years old. Evidently, his taking the throne led to some manner of strife with a guy named Haakon the Crazy, who sounds like a bit of a troublemaker.

So, now we know a few other things about August 11. These things may be of interest only to me and the few others who share my birthday, but it’s MY birthday, so I can write about them if I want.

Copyright 2023 John M. Williams