So I put the question to them last Friday.

"You were both 'Born in the USA'?" asked My.

Right, but that's not it.

"I know," said Mandy. "You're both the boss?"

True, but she's only saying that to kiss up (remind me to give her a day off next week).

"Oh, I don't know," said Linh, "you're both losing your hair? Wait, Bruce isn't losing his hair."

Gee, thanks.

"Let's see," Amy added. "Bruce is talented, Bruce is wealthy and Bruce is good looking. I have no idea what you two could have in common."

"That's enough!" I screamed. "We both share the same birthday! We were both born on the same day 54 years ago on Tuesday. That's what we have in common!"

"Oh," sighed Lisa. "Is that all?"

Is that all? Well, I happen to think it's pretty significant, and my mother does, too ... just ask her.

"Oh, yes—Sept. 23, 1949, was a very important day," said Mom. "That's the day Springsteen was born!"

Thanks, Mom.

Oh well, 54 years ago Tuesday marked the day that I (and Bruce Springsteen) was born in the USA. And I don't know about the ol' boss, but it's a plateau I wasn't looking forward to reaching (though, given the alternative, I sure hoped I would).

For some reason, looking ahead to 54 has been getting to me a bit. It's funny, because 40 didn't bother me at all, and 50 was no problem. But this one's been buggin' me ... maybe because if 54 is here, can 55 and the Early Bird discount at Denny's be far behind?

This is a big one, and as I looked ahead to the day, I knew that my cake on Tuesday would prove it. I couldn't even imagine the blazing bonfire that would be created by 54 candles on a birthday cake. I guess the burning question really was, would the heat generated by those 54 candles set off the smoke alarm?

Wouldn't matter much, anyway. With my cholesterol level where it is, my cake and ice cream would no doubt be replaced this year by rice cakes and nonfat yogurt. And it's tough to stick candles in rice cakes.

Not that my family would try. The oldest has been busy teaching and coaching football, so he's seldom around the house this time of year.

"I'll probably be around on Thursday night for a while," he said last weekend in an effort to console me.

"Well, Thursday wouldn't be my birthday, now would it!" I said sarcastically. "And what do you mean probably?"

And the youngest is off at college, and while he comes home regularly to visit his girlfriend, he no doubt would have to miss my birthday.

So it looked like it would just be my friend Natalie and I, and a rather uneventful Tuesday evening (Mom no doubt will rent a Springsteen music video to rekindle her memories of the day).

I could see the highlight of my day would be getting that free birthday meal at Denny's—at least until the assistant manager with the bad complexion and greasy hair would start to study my ID.

"Let's see, 9/23/49 ... check. Brown eyes ... check. Brown hair ... looks a little white to me, mister. And 185 pounds? Hey, who are you anyway, and what have you done with Mr. Sparrer?"

"Mr. Sparrer has matured a little, young man," I said. "Now give me my free burger!"

"No, dear," Natalie would say. "Remember your cholesterol. Better make it a green salad."

Well that would certainly be a meal worth getting my ID scrutinized for! That's not exactly the way it used to be when I was asked for my identification.

When I turned 21, I still had a baby face, and I was constantly getting carded. It was rather annoying at the time, so I grew a mustache to look a little older (of course, just a few years later the white hair started to grow in, so I shaved off the mustache to look younger !).

These days I'd probably kiss anyone who carded me in a bar or restaurant. Or at least that's what I thought.

When a server finally did ask for my ID recently, I decided against kissing him ... when I discovered he was just checking to see if I qualified for that stupid senior discount!

I'm sure Bruce can relate to what I'm going through, since we have so much in common.

After all, we were both born in the USA, we're both the boss and we were both born on Sept. 23, 1949. And if we're as much alike as I think, he probably didn't have much to do on his birthday, either.

Hey, Bruce—we should have met for lunch on Tuesday at Denny's ... my treat.

Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.