So, Sunday is my birthday. I'll be 54. (I know, I look much older, don't I?) Old enough that I could die at any moment. Maybe right now. Right this second! Okay, I guess not. Anyway, I'll be 54 and I was born in 1954. Seems like that should be significant for some reason, but it's not.
I celebrated my birthday last weekend with (most of) my kids, so this weekend will be pretty low key. The highlight will be going to Portland (again) to have dinner with my parents. I love my Mom and Dad but the former has a tough time remembering things these days and the latter remembers (or imagines) everything and often holds it against you. Fortunately I don't hold it against them and usually our times together are pretty comical.
When my Mom struggles with a word or two in a sentence, I like to help her out by finishing it for her. For example, for some reason she loves to ask how my ex-wife is doing but can never remember her name. As this is one of my least favorite topics I usually offer up names like, Cruella Deville, Leona Helmsly or Lizzie Borden before reminding her it's Nancy.
And my Dad will usually want to talk about politics, which often involves some outlandish conspiracy theory. Lately he has been obsessed with the election with insights like, "Do you know that if Obama wins he is planning to name that former Weather Underground guy, William Ayers, as Secretary of Defense?" I usually counter with, "Yes and did you know that he once fathered two children with a married woman?" or, just to be even handed, "I heard that John McCain hung out with a group of radical Communists in the late 60s / early 70s."
Luckily it usually makes them both laugh and deflates any tension in the room. For a few minutes anyway - and then it starts all over again. But, like I said, I love them and they're kinda fun at their age! They help put the "fun" in "dysfunction."
Of course, there's not a prayer they'll remember it's my birthday . . .