To my son upon reaching 20 years old:

You're 20 now, but bouncers say
You guzzle down the beers.
They insist that you have been
Twenty-one for years.

One thing sure, my aging son
My pasture's looking greener
Whatever age, we know you're not
Anymore a teener.

To my lawyer friend at his 50th birthday party:

50's a wonderful number.
A number that suits you just fine.
It's your age and the size of your stomach.
It's your score at the course after nine.

It's the number of billable hours
Your charge in a billable day.
It's the number of regular clients
Who question your bill and won't pay.

50's the age of your auto
And the age of your wife (minus 10).
But it's two times the age of your girlfriend
Who regrets that she couldn't attend.

50's the number of months now
You've  colored your hair turning gray.
And you don't look a day over 50.
But wait til tomorrow and pray.

Here's 50 more years on this planet,
And 50 more practicing law.
Maybe with all of that practice
You may get it right after all.

To my friend, Tom upon his 53rd birthday:

When we heard of your birthday, old Tommy
We ran out to get you a gift.
But we just couldn't find
What we all had in mind
So, of course, we were saddened and miffed.

We wanted to help with your golfing
So a lesson with Arnold seemed smart
But he said, "Save your dough,
Cause it's hopeless, you know.
No one can help that old fart."

We wanted to help with your hair loss,
So a transplant by the doctor seemed smart.
but he said, "Save your dough,
Cause it's hopeless, you know.
No one can help that old fart."

We wanted to help with your sex life
So a night with a call girl seemed smart.
But she said, "Save your dough,
Cause it's hopeless, you know.
No one can help that old fart."

We hope it's not true what they say, Tom
Cause we think that you're not an old fart.
Unlike all of us
You got on the bus
And now you are looking the part.

To my daughter on her 18th birthday:

The month of November is known for
Election and Thanksgiving Day.
But no day means more
Than November 4
The birthday of Katie F. A.

She entered the world without crying
She took not a breath for a while
Her mouth even shut
When they slapped her big butt
And all she could give was a smile.

She slept every day 20 hours
Waking to eat as a rule.
That schedule somehow
Is the same even now
With occasional time spent at school.

She spends most her time on the telie
Both talkie and modem-y kind.
And at 10,000 baud
She converses abroad
With any tech-nerd she can find.

Now she is 18 and counting
Her rights have increased from before.
And though she can vote,
She better take note:
DEMOCRACY STOPS AT THE DOOR.

To my friend, Jan, upon turning 50:

We kind of thought your birthday, Jan
Was due most any day.
We've noticed things about you, kid
That made us think that way.

Your handicap has slipped a notch
From twenty-nine to thirty.
Your jokes have gone from innocent
To slightly less than dirty.

Your attitude has gone from great
To "take this job and shove it."
Your husband's hair's completely gray
And there's a lot less of it.

Your daughter's getting married soon
You're working off your fanny.
Pretty soon your name will change
From Mom to "Little Granny."

All these signs we've noted, Jan.
Your birthday says, "Amen."
Welcome to the fifties, kid.
You're one of us again.

To some friends upon my turning 55:

Fifty-five and still alive
I guess I should be glad.
But all my joints are painful points
I'm looking like  my dad.

Were my drives two-fifty fives
There'd be not much ado.
But now it takes two clubs and rakes
To get that far in two.

I hope my fate at eighty-eight
Is that I'm still alive.
But no doubt then, I'll wish again
That I were fifty-five.

To my daughter on her 20th birthday:

This birthday our daughter is free
Of the big "teener" label with glee.
Now the age of her butt
Will be closer to what
Is shown on her current I.D.