I scramble every year during this second week of November. When I was a kid, I only had to remember that my dad’s birthday was the 18th. Then, as I got older, approaching my adolescence, I added my uncle (my father’s younger brother) on the 17th. Yes, that’s right, one day before my dad. They are separated by four years minus one day. Also, their youngest sibling, my aunt, falls in November, but thankfully it’s after Thanksgiving.
I left home and went off to college in Wichita, where I met my future husband (thirty years ago this past September). I won’t share that story in this post, as it’s a poorly kept secret among close relatives and friends. I shouldn’t have been surprised though to discover that his birthday falls on November 14th, four days before my dad.
Skip ahead twenty years or so, to when my son attends a local community college, finishing up his associates degree in art, and meets his future wife. What are the odds? Not astronomical apparently, because her birthday, in the American calendar (she’s a native of Nepal) falls on November 12th.
So, starting a week ago, I had four birthdays to help celebrate (as best I can because we’re all so spread out now … except for my hubby and my dad), culminating in my dad’s birthday today.