I had no idea. It was the start of August and it moved up so quick and sharp, like a needle in the grass. His birthday really is too early in August. One hasn’t time to adjust to August, and with it September, October — That is to say: Birthday Season.
“What!?!? Birthday Season!?!? Already!?!?” I sputtered, many hours too late, days too late, weeks too late, too late and too far below.
You might say I forgot only the first child’s birthday, and now that I’ve been reminded of Birthday Season, I’m remembering all the rest. But that would be neither fair nor accurate. What I forgot was Birthday Season, which to say: all of your birthdays.
I cannot in good faith recall the birthdays of some but not all children. I cannot in good conscious celebrate three-fourths of Birthday Season, having benefitted from the warning shot of forgetting the first fourth. I cannot, in all decency, recognize any of your birthdays this year, which is 2022.
What can I do?
Author: Uncle Ernest Lee Conssernt