“A very merry un-birthday to you!” – From Disney’s adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”

By Ken Sheetz

I don’t enjoy my birthday.  But it still comes every September 21st, usually the Equinox when it’s not a leap year like this one.  The reason I don’t like my birthday?   My father, who died 18 months ago, gave me more than a traditional birthday spanking when I turned thirteen.  You see, back in 1965 my dad got it in his head that age thirteen was manhood.  When I popped my kid brother Bruce in the jaw for teasing me about it getting a savings bond instead of the space toy I wanted, Dad popped his cork and beat me to within an inch of my life.

So, each year around my birthday I go through what the shrinks call “anniversary depression”.  I hoped all the personal growth DreamShield has brought that my 2012 birthday might be different.  But a few days away from my birthday arrival the old anniversary rage at my dad, a shockingly gargantuan amount, boiled up in me like a volcano.  Desperate to minimize my birthday blues, I disabled the notifications on my Facebook page before turning in for the night in the Great Spirits Ranch RV, determined to rough my birthday out in solitude.

Dad’s been dead 18 months now.  A wonderful man when not drinking, Dad loved adventure.  In a November 2011 vision of him Dad was on the adventure of all time, aboard a sleek silver bullet shaped ship traveling faster than the speed of light.  When I asked my dead father where his amazing space ship was going he said he’d let me know when the time was right.

Apparently, the time had come because at 4 AM on the morning of my 2012 birthday, as I lay awake in bed staring at the RV ceiling, dreading the coming day’s annual sorrow, I heard my dead father say, “Ready to know where my space ship has been heading, Ken?”

“Sure,” I said warily.

“Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and saw Dad’s silver space ship once again rocketing through the stars.  But I knew in that instant this was not outer space.  Dad’s ship was traveling to the center of my inner universe.

Soon Dad and I were standing on the freshly mowed lawn of our old home in Bay View Wisconsin.  I breathed in the fresh air of 1965 that wafted off Lake Michigan.  Invisible to all but each other, Dad’s ghost and I watched as the blue Chevrolet family station wagon pulled up to the curb.

Mom, a young beauty again in her 30s, was first to hop out of the car with her favorite Bruce, five-years-old again, in tow.

Ghost Dad watched with some shame as his drunken 1965 self stepped from the car and slammed the door shut so hard and loose piece of chrome fell off.   “You ungrateful little shit,” said 1965 Dad lighting up a smoke. “You don’t like your savings bond I’ll burn it, but no more damn toys! I was working and supporting my Ma and sisters when I was thirteen.”

My brother Fred, age eleven and my thirteen-year-old self hopped from the car, avoiding Dad as he did his drunken best to fix the fallen chrome.

“A savings bond is cool, Kenny.” said Fred, still my best friend to this day.

“I wanna model space station.” I grumbled.

“Don’t know when to quit do you, boy?” said 1965 Dad, cutting his finger on the sharp chrome, angrier by the second.

Smelling his chance to amplify family drama, Bruce ran up to Fred and me laughing.  “Ha!  Ha! Ken got a stupid savings bond for his birthday!”

My younger self reared back for a punch, the punch to my smartass baby brother’s jaw that would send my father into a drunken rage.  A rage where he’d beat me to a point I felt I was going to die and did in a way.

But my ghost father had other plans.  He simply reached out and held my 1965 self’s hand back.  So I never hit my baby brother.  My 1965 father  stormed in the house to fix his cut finger.  Fred and I ran off giggling from relief to hide out in the tree house until Dad sobered up.

My spirit self stood for a moment with my ghost father.  I listed in stunned peaceful silence as seagulls sang over Lake Michigan.  It was all so simple, so elegant a solution.  My ghost father had traveled back time to change the past.  And now there never was a beating on my lucky thirteenth.

“Happy birthday, Ken,” Dad said, tears of pride and joy welling in his blue eyes.

I woke in bed weeping and thanking my father.  I could feel it to my core.  Deep healing.  I was 100% cured of my anniversary depression.

Friday morning, my 2012 birthday, I woke filled with renewed energy, not only for my arrival date on the planet earth but life.  A scientist/artist/builder pal, Brian Kutza, offered me a ride off the ranch to the grand opening of John D. Riley’s new gallery and healing center happening that night in Santa Monica and I gladly accepted.

While Brian dropped me off in Santa Monica to pick up his divine compliment Ellen and his adorable daughter Kendra in Pasadena I saw RESIDENT EVIL 5 and bought some new clothes as a birthday gift to myself.  At John’s party I met beautiful new friends and happily told guests it was my birthday.   I thought to myself at one point, “So this is the joy people normally feel on their birthdays!”

Today September 22nd, the 2012 leap year Equinox, I told my brother Fred about my birthday visit from Dad’s ghost.  Fred was very happy for me.

Badly beaten on my 13^th birthday?  Nope.  Never happened in this Golden Age we are entering where miracles await us all.  Happy Equinox 2012.

Please support my mission to reach Antarctica before the Mayan Calendar ends for a pole shift meditation at DreamShield.org