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I ate a crappy ass dinner for my birthday. It was a pizza buffet with below-average pizza and plastic tables. It's one of those places where teenagers come to stuff their faces, because you can eat all the pizza you want for like five bucks. It's a place where the majority of people there have their pants sagging off their asses. There's not a beer in sight and the television is never tuned into a sporting event. I hate the place. Here's the part where you ask, "then why did you eat there for your birthday?" The only answer I have is: "because that's what I do."

What I really wanted was a steak. I wanted a perfectly seasoned ribeye steak with a big fat loaded baked potato. I was driving down Highway 64 licking my chops, thinking about how I was going to hammer my ribeye and half of Lori's NY Strip that she always orders. I was thinking about how the strip is more tender and a better cut, but I was going to stick with my ribeye. I love the flavor. I was going to order a Sam Adams Winter Lager and the combination was going to be perfect. It was all going to be perfect. Then a voice piped up from the back seat..."Can we get pizza?" The voice was followed by two more in unison, "yeah Daddy, let's get pizza!" And that was that.

The whole point of my birthday dinner is supposed to be for me to eat what I want and for my family to spoil me. It's supposed to be all about me. But somebody asked for pizza. Like clockwork, somebody had to make their desires known.

Anyway, I had a decision to make. It was simple. I traded in my steak to see my kids smiling and enjoying the crappy pizza buffet. Towards the end of that sickening dinner, Kenzer looks up from a pastry on her plate and asks,

"Daddy, are you having a good birthday?"
"Wonderful" I respond, just wanting to get out of that place.
"Good" she says and gets back to eating.

I sit there disgusted, trying not to let it show. Kenzer will pick up on any sign of unhappiness from a mile away. They finally finish and I'm pleased that they don't detect a hint of disappointment. They laugh and play all the way home as if they just had the time of their lives. As we pull into the driveway I wonder how they will remember this day when they get older. I hope that they will think, "remember how much fun we had when we took daddy out for pizza on his birthday?" I hope they will remember me having a good time. I also hope that this doesn't become a family tradition.