1913 seems so very long ago, and it is strange to stop and “feel” the connection to that time in history, placing my own life into that timeline.
This photo was taken at his last birthday party back in December 2009. He looked amazingly good for 96, even though his declining health was obvious.
I described the birthday in an entry here the next day.
When I told him it was his birthday, he wanted to know what year it was.
“Nineteen…nineteen…” He paused, looking at me to fill in the blank, tell him what year it is. I had to say that it’s 2009.
“So how old am I? Eighty?”
96, I answered.
He looked bemused. 96 is something that happens to someone else, to old people.
Happy birthday, dad.