The Birthday by Steve Wade   Another birthday. My thirty-seventh. Somehow, there seemed great significance attached to my being thirty-seven. There were famous figures in history who didn’t quite kick-off their careers till they were thirty-seven. George Barnard Shaw was one of them; that I knew. And there were others too, but I couldn’t think of any. I’d do a Google on them later.    The connection with great men, tentative though it was, had me humming and half-singing to myself in the bathroom. Good acoustics.      The wave of excitement sloshing about in my stomach, as I … Continue reading The Birthday