So last year (as well as the previous year), I recall writing a post around my birthday about how my mother flaked me off for the dinner that she had planned and made me commit myself to way ahead of time. She is a professional at this type of thing and has been celebrating my birthday in such a manner since I can remember, in all honesty; so it doesn’t affect me, anymore. If anything, the instance of this type of things wins me money placed on bets made with various people leading up to my birthday, without fail.
- May the Gods bless my mother and each and every one of her strange and remarkably injurious shortcomings toward her children.
This year, she surprised me a bit by completely switching the date of my birth to that of yesterday. We sat through a meal last night following an intense disagreement surrounding the day that I was actually born. Upon my pulling out my driver’s license, she even went as far as to try and tell me that they incorrectly recorded my birth details (because I was born on the reservation and the record-keeping wasn’t too reliable back then), a statement which I KNOW to be untrue because my father told me so many times about taking me, himself, to the local hospital and county clerk, etc. to handle my true and technical registration as a person.
In my Life, any discretion between my parents always ends in my own mind with my long-dead (too fucking long already) father winning, hands down. He was a logical man; an engineer brain, a computer geek, and a military spirit…the one and only fluke to his behavior was the uncharacteristic element of “a psychedelic artist”, in spite of being the notorious “wet blanket” among his friends due to his unwillingness to ever try any type of hallucinogen during the 60’s and 70’s. He was a damned good acid-trip painter; and painted shit that made me cross-eyes, even as a sober little girl. But, I digress…
Point is, there has always been a striking contrast between my parents; the story of them is so bizarre and happenstance in its totality that it left me and my brothers pondering their union as very young children, in the face of such differences in their characters. Apparently, these ponderings will never end until we are all dead and gone, because they were strong as ever last night as I “celebrated my birthday” with my beloved mother, Willow, three days early.