November 26th, 2020, 22:02 CST
Today is the final day of my 42nd year of life, with a few hours remaining. By the time it reaches five o’clock in the morning tomorrow, assuming that I’m still alive by then, I’ll be most likely snoring in my bedroom, unknowingly crossing to the other side of this mystical number, until I wake.
Yes, I was born sometime near and around five in the morning, 42 years ago, on the provincial island of Taiwan, China. Incidentally, 1978 was the same year that the late, great, ingenious author Douglas Adams came out with his Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy radio comedy series. It’s fun to think that my favorite sci-fi stories originated while I was stirring around in my mother’s womb, not a worry in the world.
Having spoken to my mother just this morning, I updated her and dad about the latest pandemic news in the U.S. of which they were happily unaware, gossiped about people whose lives seemed to be more bent out of shape compared to ours, and contemplated our own mortalities - mom is 24 years my elder, and dad 28. Do the math.
Douglas Adams himself couldn’t make it to his 50th birthday, succumbing to a heart attack in May of 2001 in my U.S. home state of California. He was 49. I didn’t find out until later that year, because I was teaching English to sun-burnt elementary school children in a sun-kissed town in the nation of Uzbekistan as a Peace Corps volunteer at the time. I remember being sad when I found out about his death, for a little while. Then, I read the entire Hitchhiker’s series over the course of a week, I suppose as a tribute to him.
A big hug to “Sir” Douglas Adams, for lighting up my world with his wit and imagination.
By the way, if you didn’t get the subtitle to this post, read his book. The number 42 is quite spectacularly disappointing in it, which was simply marvelous.
42 is also the number that the late, great, legendary Jackie Robinson wore as the first African-American player in Major League Baseball, a sport of which I’m a die-hard fan, specifically of the team for which Jackie played, the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers. Everybody who knows anything about baseball history in America knows the significance of 42. There’s a movie about it. Watch it.
Jackie made it a few years past 50. 53 in fact. He also succumbed to a heart attack. Seems to be a running theme here. I wouldn’t mind a heart attack, not that I really have a choice in the matter, but I hope to have it a few years later than these gentlemen about whom I’ve been rambling.
A big hug to Jackie Roosevelt Robinson, for his ability to be stoic in the face of unbelievable discrimination and his legacy in baseball and beyond.
There’s been a good amount of death this year. Think about whose popped in your mind first. Each of them had a face, a number, a life. Some more documented and followed than others, but all going toward the same destination - the Universe. Let’s give a hug to all of them.
For me, the first hug goes to my unborn daughter, who left us while being with us for only 180 short but exciting days this year. She had her reasons I’m sure, but for a while, I thought about dying, just so I can be with her. But she told me to stay, she showed me how much I wanted to be a father, she tested me with the biggest tease, she made me a better man.
The second hug goes to my grandfather, whom I’ve been writing to every morning for the past four years. Grandpa was the best teacher I’ve ever had. He taught me discipline and how to dribble a basketball. He taught me the wisdom of saving up for a rainy day. He still continues to teach me every day, more than a decade after he left us.
The last hug goes to all of the brave, unfortunate, and unknown souls throughout history whose deaths I read about this year. There are so many of them, and if I’m not careful, they easily vanish into numbers. Just like 42 for me, if not for my own memory, is merely a number.
But I just have to remember, at all times, that every number of every fellow human being, past and present, had and has a face, a face that smiled and smiles, frowned and frowns, laughed and laughs, cried and cries. That’s it, really.
Happy Thanksgiving, my friend. Thank you for getting this far. And Happy 42nd Birthday, myself.
If you enjoyed this piece and wouldn’t mind reading more of my musings, please subscribe and/or share via the buttons here.
Love you Hsu!
Thank you for this beautiful and heartbreaking letter Hsu