Thanks for reminding me of that still gut-wrenching day when, like Harry Potter, my parents forgot I had been born. It must have been ’70 or ’71. I’m amazed u remembered it.
The whole family had just moved stressfully from the wilds of Inverness back to Birkenhead, the dream of a new life in tatters.
On the morning in question I sat down as usual at the kitchen table for the usual cornflakes and slice of toast, hoping the family would say “happy birthday”, but instead all I got was a stony silence. Wogan wittered endlessly on the radio. I peered round the room expectantly. Surely they knew? After all, I’d just reached a benchmark age, a moment never to be repeated. Double figures.
Time dragged on, Terry Wogan was replaced by Jimmy Young or someone and I grabbed my bag and blazer and left for school. I think the penny dropped later. When I got home apologies were offered and accepted.
You might think I was being a self-obsessed brat, and perhaps you’re right. But in self defence, such matters are more important at that age than they are later in life, to state the obvious.
I will now repair to the bathroom to weep one last time. Have a great evening and stay cool and hydrated in this weather.
Sent from my iPhone