Monday, October 30, 2006

What's my age again?

In my family I think it is safe to say I am closest to my father. He and I are similar in temperament and enjoy many of the same things (such as community service and Broadway plays). We disagree on politics (he continues to believe that Schwarzenegger is the best thing to hit California since Junipero Serra), and radio stations (he sees nothing wrong in taking a 4 hour car trip listening only to AM stations, while I would rather carve my own eyes out), but he is a great guy. A great guy with a horrible memory, that is. It is well known that he can't remember the names of people or products, but I always thought he remembered the important stuff (like my name and age). How wrong I was. So last week he called me up to tell me he met the dean of students at my high school. Did I remember this person? No I did not. "That's okay," my dad says, "he didn't remember you either. But he asked what year you graduated, so he could look you up. So I told him late 80's." I started laughing, and asked my father, "How old do you think I am? You just added 10 years to my life!" He said he remembered that I graduated from high school in 96, and he just said the wrong date, but apparently he sees me and thinks 38 and not 28. Nice.

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