It's that time of year again: my birthday. Today isn't actually my birthday but I am pretty sure it's happening sometime soon. I am not quite positive how old I am going to be either. If you are new to the blog you are probably thinking, "Wow, this lady is really an idiot," and although that may be true, it is not my fault I don't know how old I am or when my real birthday is.
When I was a teenager I put together these facts: 1) My parents met in January of 1969. 2) They got married in June of 1969, a mere six months after they met. 3) My mother wore an empire waist wedding dress,
and 4) I was born in September...... of 1970, so they say. I innocently questioned if their wedding was of the shotgun variety those many years ago and they both were defensive about it. A bit overly defensive, if you ask me. So I have long suspected that I am actually a year older than they tell me I am.
Two years ago around my birthday I asked again if I was born in 1969 or 1970 (I figure they will slip up and the truth will come out eventually), and this is what my dad told me in an email:
I think my dad is gaslighting me. Or my birthday is actually September 17.
My parents are coming to visit me this weekend and take me out for a nice birthday dinner. I can't wait for this year's birthday bombshell. What could it be this time? I'm adopted? I absorbed my identical twin in the womb? I was born a boy? Who knows?!
UPDATE: I just got this from my dad. At this point I don't think he is trying to drive me nuts. I think he is losing his marbles. Time for the home!
When I was a teenager I put together these facts: 1) My parents met in January of 1969. 2) They got married in June of 1969, a mere six months after they met. 3) My mother wore an empire waist wedding dress,
and 4) I was born in September...... of 1970, so they say. I innocently questioned if their wedding was of the shotgun variety those many years ago and they both were defensive about it. A bit overly defensive, if you ask me. So I have long suspected that I am actually a year older than they tell me I am.
Two years ago around my birthday I asked again if I was born in 1969 or 1970 (I figure they will slip up and the truth will come out eventually), and this is what my dad told me in an email:
"Here's what I remember about your birthday. In September 1970-do the freaking math will you!........ (see? defensive. Too defensive??? You decide.) You were born in a Catholic hospital in St. Cloud with nuns in attendance. Mom was in labor for over 24 hours and she passed out between labor pains. At one point she told the cute little red-headed nurse she wanted to go home. The nurse looked at me and said, "Do you want to take her home Mr. Lindahl?" I didn't. You finally popped out in your own good time and all was well except we missed some insurance deadline for coverage by an hour or two so the good old nuns changed the dates of your birth to get us the coverage we needed. You ended up costing us not much. Whew! You may have been born on the 30th of September but it was in 1970 NOT 1969. Sometimes you acted like a little bastard but you actually are not one. Happy birthday and legit or not, I love you! Dad"I totally did not expect that I had the wrong day for the first 41 years of my life, but at least I was only one day off. And then several days ago I got this:
I think my dad is gaslighting me. Or my birthday is actually September 17.
My parents are coming to visit me this weekend and take me out for a nice birthday dinner. I can't wait for this year's birthday bombshell. What could it be this time? I'm adopted? I absorbed my identical twin in the womb? I was born a boy? Who knows?!
.....................................................................................................
UPDATE: I just got this from my dad. At this point I don't think he is trying to drive me nuts. I think he is losing his marbles. Time for the home!
Errrrr, BTW, I've been thinking lately and you may actually be 45 on Sunday, not 44 or 43. Sorry, it's all just a little fuzzy about dates and all back then. You know college kids in those days. It was the 60's you know. Oh well, who really cares how old you actually are anyway. See you this weekend. DadIt won't be so bad, Dad, you could maybe be the prom king! (that's an optimistic maybe)
I'm assuming you know your Social Security Number, so you can always go to the Vital Records office, pay the fee, and get your birth certificate. Maybe?
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