My life with my farmer and our six children. Made possible by massive amounts of caffeine.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Today is my father's birthday. According to family legend, he was actually born on April 1st. My grandmother, not wanting an April fool's baby, paid the doctor fifty dollars to change the time and date of his birth. His birth certificate lists his time and date of birth as being 11 something p.m. on March 31st. My very truthful mother says this story is true, and so do my uncles. I think it is pretty funny, and it certainly sounds like something my grandmother would have done. Last year on my father's birthday I was a mess. I cried most of the day, and the ache of missing him was strong. This year, while I still miss him sorely and still feel a pang of sorrow that he is not here to celebrate, I am not a mess. One of my sisters and I visited his grave, took him flowers and told him happy birthday. I have been able to think of him with out weeping, and I have not cried once today. I beat my son Robert at cribbage (my father's favorite game, he made sure all four of us could play) in my dad's honor, and I said a prayer of thanksgiving for having been given such a wonderful father!