On September 11th, 1996 in Juneau, Alaska, Glenn and Diane Wilson gave birth to a baby girl weighing 7 lbs., 9 oz. That baby then evolved into me; an apathetic narcissist who loves sleep and the internet. Life was good for a few years, until I turned five. That was September 11th, 2001, when the World Trade Center was struck down, leaving America with a scar that never quite seemed, or seems, to heal.

Since then, I have always been a little quieter about my birthday. Whether it's showing my ID to get into a show, or just in normal conversation. Whenever I mention my birth date I always receive the "Really?! Oh my gosh, wow, that's crazy!", or my personal favorite, "So you're like, a terrorist baby?".

Let's be real, it totally sucks having to share a birthday with 9/11. If you think Christmas birthdays are bad, think about the whole nation crying while you blow out the candles. Trust me, if I knew in the womb that 9/11 would be such a crappy day to be born, I would've held on for two more hours until the 12th. As my mother says, cést la vie, life goes on, and I have to deal with the anniversary of my life and the anniversary of the death of our nation's safety.

Don't get me wrong, my birthday isn't totally horrible. Having such an ironic birthday actually helped me. I learned how to be humble. I realized that the world does not revolve around me, even on my birthday, and that there will be hurting and mourning, no matter how old I get. I learned to find humor in such a dark time, more so reflecting on me and not the attack. "Of course something like this would happen to me of all people," I say every year.

Every year I will keep celebrating, and every year millions will think of those lost on that day. Even if I have to do it on a different weekend, even if I have to share the date, it's okay. The hardest tests teach you the most. So when you remember those lost, also remember me, partying for both of our birthdays. God bless America and all the 9/11 babies! USA! USA! USA!