I had to collect Daniel from GAA at 7 on Thursday night. I arrived home from work at 6.45 to be met by Mr. Waffle who immediately cycled off into the sunset to a school information night. I drove to the training grounds. I was a little late. No sign of my first born son. It gradually dawned on me that they must be training in the other grounds. I arrived there about 20 minutes later and my child was sitting patiently waiting for me at the side of the road. Our conversation went as follows.
Me: Were you waiting long?
Him: Yes.
Me: Were you worried?
Him: No. One of the trainers asked me whether I was alright when she was leaving. I said I was and not to worry because my Mum is always late. The trainer said that there was a lot of traffic but I said that you were late whether there was traffic or not.
Me: That is true.
For the first 6 years of my life I celebrated my birthday on the wrong day because my mother had forgotten when I was born, and no it was not at 30 seconds past midnight either. It was only when we moved to America for 3 years that my mother found the correct date. I should have smelt a rat when I told a friend’s mother, this year my birthday is on the Xth. She said sharply that your birthday is always on the same day each year, in my limited experience up to then it was more like Easter but it happened sometime towards the end of summer. Being a little late is rather a small misdemeanour on this scale of vagueness. I must say I had a very happy childhood so I would not worry.
Do you have many siblings, Charles? I do like the idea of your birthday being a moveable feast, like Easter. Very practical.
Two sisters, I am in the middle
I did like your story, but I am afraid Charles has rather usurped you!
Yes, K, I’m quite admiring of his parents’ insouciance.