Another birthday, another year around the sun, and another wish. I am awaiting the same thing that happens every year. My mom will ask me what cake I want. I’ll say, “Vanilla with chocolate frosting and chocolate chip crumbles on top”. My special birthday cake order hasn’t changed in eleven years. My family will gather around the dining room table… or maybe sit on the couch if the Celtics game is on. My sister will practically sprint around the house turning out all the lights, and then my parents will proceed to yell at her for running too fast. “You’re shaking the whole house! If you knock it down it’s you who’s gonna pay for it”. My sister will sigh, I will laugh, and then my mom and dad will bring in the cake. I’ll look at the hot wax dripping down the birthday candles to meet the savory chocolate frosting. 2 feet, 1 foot, 5 inches, and before you know it, the out of key birthday song sung by the people I love more than anything is over, and the cake is right in front of my nose read to be wished upon. I never have to think of anything to wish for. It has never changed and probably never will. I will wish on each of my three candles. On the first I wish for my family and friends to live their lives happily as long as they live. On the second, I wish for good things to come my way. I like to leave this one open and vague so that when good things do eventually happen to me on the path of life, I am more likely to appreciate them and cherish them. And last but not least, I wish for three more wishes. I don’t know if that last one violates any special birthday rules, but it's worked out pretty well for me so far. The candle smoke will dance in the air like ballerinas and bring the familiar smell that always makes me even more hungry than before the huge cake was pushed into my hands. I wish it could be my birthday every year. Weather I am three, twenty five, or fifty years old, I will dream of my wishes on February 13th with impatience every single year.