By Fred Steiner
Bear with me as I gobble – care for piece? – a fork full of my birthday cake.

For me, Nov. 9 is the sweetest day on the Roman calendar. And, unlike previous birthdays, this one comes with a nice ring to it.

My Uncle Sam sent me my own Medicare card.

In a birthday wish to appreciate how previous paternal ancestors celebrated their 65th birthdays, please consider the following stories:

Born in Switzerland, Great-grandfather Rudolf Althaus ended up in Shannon, Ohio, signed a petition to change its name to Bluffton, and lived here the rest of his life.

His was an unusual profession: an artist, specifically an oil painter. He painted scenes of Switzerland on large canvases, selling them to his expatriates Swiss friends.

I own several of those paintings.

At age 65 he returned to Switzerland for a fair well home visit.

That’s how he celebrated his 65th birthday.

(He died 50 years to the day I was born. I’ll let you ponder that one.)

My maternal grandfather, Fred Hahn, drilled oil wells in Orange Township starting in the 1890s. His career experienced Bluffton’s Oil Boom from start to finish. As the boom dried up in the 1920s, he capping the empty wells that he originally drilled.

Several of his dynamite boxes used to carry explosives of his trade are in my collection, as is the heavy tool chest he took with him to work in a horse and buggy.

His most learned trait involved retelling unusual Bluffton stories to anyone who might listen. He had lots of listeners.

In the late 1930s he went to the Hardin County courthouse to change his date of birth. Born in the Scioto marsh in 1876, he somehow convinced Hardin County officials that he was really one year younger then records stated.

Pretty clever. He figured out a way to travel back in time and work one extra year.

Apparently he celebrated his 65th birthday by celebrating his 64th birthday.

I’ve never dropped dynamite down a hole.
I never struck oil.
I never painted with oil.
I’ve never visited the Old World.
I never lied about the year I was born.

But, I celebrate my 65th birthday walking the same streets they did – talking with many people who have the same last name as their neighbors and friends.

It’s a pretty comfortable feeling.

I wonder how they celebrated their 70th birthdays?