(This happened in Chinese.)
Around the dinner table, my aunt mentioned that it was her daughter’s birthday, and that it happened to be Friday the 13th. My dad said to me, “Isn’t your birthday on the 13th too?”
“I don’t know”, I said rather loud and sarcastically.
My dad was in trouble. All the family around us realized that he doesn’t know my birthday. So he said a date (and year, as if reciting a historical event) with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
I don’t think he was ever more relieved than when I told him he was right. Not because he got the right date, but because he didn’t seem like such a bad father to everyone else.
Old guys don’t remember dates. If you’re married I’d be surprised. Why don’t you talk to him about what’s really bothering you instead of starting fires everywhere.
Bigots don’t try to understand situations before opening their mouths and giving their opinions on them. Why don’t you learn the complexities of human relationships, instead of lowering other people to your level with generalizations and judging others based on your standards.
I can’t remember a single date, except for Christmas, my Birthday, and Halloween. My parents even have to remind me when my best friend’s Birthday is.
I asked my dad when last I visited, just for conversation’s sake in the car one day, “So Dad, what was I like when I was little?” Loooooooooooooong pause.
“Um, you don’t remember?” I said after a while.
“I remember you cried like hell when you got hit with a baseball bat one day.” he said.
“THAT’s what you remember about me?” I asked, trying not to be hurt.
“It seemed important at the time.”
At least all you guys were discussing was date.