In May of this year, when the in-laws visited, Papa told us he was 90. He celebrated his 80th in 2006. I was there.
This evening he informed the Forbearing Husband that next year he will be… 90. Is he confused? Are we confused? Has a recent viewing of the film Arrival led Papa to grapple with the space-time continuum? Or is it that once you get to 90 the clock stops? That would seem only fair.
I’ve got a birthday next year too. I think I’ll make it my 30th. Anyone for cake?
Just in case you think we are delinquent in not knowing Papa’s date of birth, here is why: Papa was born in Samoa around the time of the Mau movement (Mau a Pule). His schooling was disrupted, I assume due to the ongoing civil unrest, and later he started using his younger brother’s birth certificate so that he could complete his education. Papa’s actual year of birth is now lost in the mists of time.