19 February, 2015

Time To Laugh At Ken Again

So my father is turning 70 this year, in late June.

That's a milestone birthday, a day that should be planned for. Something should happen on that day.
Preferably some kind of surprise thing, if that can somehow be arranged. The planning should probably start....now-ish.

Even getting those plans rolling without tipping Dad off is a challenge. I can't just email my stepmom, because they only have the one email address and so far as I know, my dad checks the emails much more often than she does. I can't call for the same reason: if he picks up the phone, as he often does, it's out of character for me to ask to speak to his wife.

Besides, Eva wants in on the planning. Helping to plan things like this is something she just loves to do. But she tasked me with the first step.

Go to contact stepsister. Realize that even though her email address is really simple, I can't recall it. Search mailbox: my father often sends things to both of us, or forwards things that came from her...but he's scrupulous about Bcc'ing and deleting any address on his emails that isn't his.

Contact stepbrother on Facebook (stepsister isn't on there, presumably because she has a life instead). Ask for her address, get it, and lay out situation for her. Ask her to contact her mom.

Get a note back this morning:

Just spoke with my mom- she said Ken turns 69 this year- born 1946. ??

Damn it, not again.

Usually these moments of supreme idiocy happen only around Eva and nobody else has to see them, or deal with them.  This one snuck out into the great white yonder.

See, I knew that. Born 1946--I knew that. Never forgot it for an instant. The problem is that I forgot what year I'm in now.

This happens once a year, early in the year to be sure, but much later than it should. I will get a year ahead of myself. it happened just long enough for me to remember that Dad was born in 1946. For just that moment, it was 2016.

Did you feel it? Did you feel that exact moment when we all shot a year into the future?

And once I'd made the calculation, the year no longer mattered, so it was forgotten. All that mattered was that my dad was turning 70 in a few short months.
I shot back an embarrassed reply to my stepsister, and she wrote back:

Lol- it's called 'getting older' & it sucks ass!!! 

Bet Dad knows what ^&*(ing YEAR he's in.

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