You Do the Math

It was November 15, 1988 and I was nineteen years old. It would have been my parents' wedding anniversary had they still been married. I was sitting in the living room and wondering how long my parents would have been married on that day if they hadn't gotten divorced. So, I started counting away and at some point, a discrepancy came to light. You see, my birthday is on May 26, 1969 and my parents were married on November 15, 1968. November...to......May -- anything jump out at anyone? Yeah, it didn't for me either until I was nineteen: that's only SIX MONTHS.

I called to my mother in the other room, "Hey Mom! Were you and Daddy married in November 1967 or November 1968?"

Pause. Pause. "Uh...I don't remember," she yelled from her bedroom.
"Whaddya mean you don't remember?? Were you married in November of '67 or November of '68?"
Pause. Pause. "I'm trying to take a nap," came the response from her bedroom.

And that's how, NINETEEN YEARS later, I discovered my parents were preggers when they got hitched. My mother finally copped to it and said that as the years went by and I never did the math, they just assumed I'd never figure it out.

I'm not suggesting there was anything terribly scandalous about my mother being pregnant when they married, I'm just horrified that my math skills were so awful that I never noticed there were only six months between their anniversary and my birthday!

My mother stopped me before I had a chance to phone my father to sing "Shotgun" by Booker T & the MG's or "Love Child" by the Supremes. I did run around singing them to her for several days though. The things that woman has had to put up with...

So, Happy Anniversary, Moo. I love you. Thanks for the front row seat at the wedding and I'm sorry I still haven't sent a gift. ;)