In case it isn't too obvious, The Columbia Star is celebrating its 45th birthday today, October 24. A little less obvious is this particular day is also my birthday. I'm 39.

This birthday has proven to be bit stranger than most. For starters, anytime I tell someone older than I that I've turned 39, they giggle and sarcastically say, "Oh yeah…me too!" Then they walk away shaking their heads. There are two reasons to get offended by such a response. At best, it indicates that I am a liar. At worst, it says I look a lot older than 39. If I were being less than truthful about my age, wouldn't I say 29? I guess I can't pull that off anymore.

Even if the older folks think I'm fibbing about my age, that's much better than the response I get from younger folks. Usually, their reaction is a combination of things. First, they get the same look on their faces people get when they watch a certain clip that always appears in various forms

on America's Funniest

Home Videos. It's the one where some poor guy is trying to hold up, replace, or repair a piñata as some little, blindfolded kid armed with a Lousville Slugger takes a Hank Aaron swing right into the tender section of the man's anatomy.

So when I say I'm turning 39, younger folks squint their eyes, purse their lips, and say sympathetically, "Oooohhh." That is always followed by the completely unnecessary reminder of what's looming around the corner, "The big 4- 0 is next." Then they gnash their teeth and give you a quasi- comforting pat on the back like you just got a prostate exam. I'd rather get the sarcastic laugh and disbelief than that.

The one thing I can

remember is how old I'm getting. I may forget where I'm driving or all of yesterday, but I've got no trouble remembering my next birthday is the proverbial BIG 4- 0. I've already got a very special midlife crisis planned for that day. I don't need some patronizing 20- something with all his hair in the correct places telling me what comes next. My life experience and wayward eyebrows take care of that on a daily basis.

Good Lord willing, I'll leave my 30s behind and go full- force into my 40s. There will be no more clinging to youth when that happens. Thirty- nine is still in the 30s and the 30s are close to the 20s. That's simply not the case with 40. I won't be able to cling to my youth anymore. In fact, the Big 5- 0 will be just around the corner and so will things like regular colonoscopies and multiple other horrifying procedures that involve rubber gloves. It's enough to make me run out and buy a convertible Corvette.

But, as my wife says, I should be happy I've had another birthday. She says it sure beats the alternative. Death is a pretty powerful trump card. So I guess it doesn't matter if I'm a liar, someone worthy of sympathy, or someone in a souped- up convertible. I'll just go have my happy birthday and start hanging out with people my exact age.