My Dad would be 108

Today is my father’s 108th Birthday. Although he’s obviously well ahead of me in the total number of birthdays, I’ve now had two more than he had while he was alive. That bit of trivia is just plain weird.

I haven’t written about his birthday since his 105th back in 2021, which means I seem to be back in my old pattern of remembering his birthday after it’s passed. I talked about my why this is the case for me back in 2016, probably the first time I ever mentioned his birthday on this blog:

…I’ve tended to forget to write a post about my dad’s birthday because nearly all my blog posts are written just before they’re published. That meant that if I didn’t remember it at the time, I didn’t write about it all. My dad’s birthday was one of those things I always forgot to write about until it had passed (in my defence, there have been other topics, too—actually, I guess that’s not much of a defence after all).

So… why is this year different and I remembered to write a post? Earlier this month, I ran across something that reminded me and that gave me plenty of time to actually get around to beginning this post ahead head of time. I really ought to plan out such things, but I don’t.

The more specific trigger to remember was my trip up to Auckland on February 16 to inspect the rental house, which had been the home Nigel and I lived in between 2006 and 2017. In my post about that trip, I said, “we lived there until we shifted to Clarks Beach in South Auckland in February 2017—seven years ago this month.” What I didn’t say was that the date we shifted was Saturday, February 25, 2017—seven years ago today. At the time, I was well aware that the date was my dad’s birthday, and in the years since, I’ve been able to remember the date we shifted to Clarks Beach because of that. However, not even that’s been enough to make me remember to blog about my dad’s birthday—actually, that’s not being fair to me: The date we moved isn’t exactly the sort of thing I’d normally remember, so it’s unlikely the coincidence of dates would’ve helped me remember, anyway. Like I said, I really should plan out such things.

Obviously, the important thing isn’t some sort of blogging perfection, it’s that, despite everything, I remembered this year because a reminder associated with Nigel and me moving house led to me me thinking about my dad and his influence on me, something that doesn’t happen as much as it used to. He and my mother have been gone so long, and so much as happened since then—two-thirds of my entire life, in fact—that a great many things from my past crowd into my head, especially my past in New Zealand, and I have 28+ years of that.

As I said in my “most recent” post about his birthday—back in 2021:

Mainly, though, I’m grateful for the base he and my mother gave me, the framework to build the me I would eventually become. I get some of the credit for that, of course, as do other family and my friends (and, again, especially Nigel…), but the fact remains that he and my mother laid the foundation on which I would one day build me. Open eyed, aware, and certain that I may be, I nevertheless acknowledge where I come from, and my Dad was an important part of that.

That’s still true, obviously, and it’s the context in which I most often think of him and my mother. I can only barely recall the sound of their voices, or how they moved, but I well remember their influence on me.

My dad’s influence was different than my mother’s. While she nurtured my creativity more than my dad did, he nurtured my intellectual curiosity more than my mother—not that it was a competition, of course, and both contributed their share to both. What this really means is that my relationship with my dad was different than my relationship with my mother. I think that’s true for most people.

As the years have passed, I’ve become more aware of the differences between my parents as people as well as their different-yet-similar influences on me as I was growing up. They both died much too young—younger than I am now, as I noted in my annual post about my birthday last year:

64 IS significant in a way that’s meaningful to me: I’ve now attained an age my parents never did. A few months ago, I reached the age at which I’d lived longer than either of them did, but when I hit 64, that milestone was unquestionably over. I’ve been aware of that point for decades, especially when I neared 60. Now, that’s done. So: What’s the next one?

I think that’s the final piece of the puzzle as to why I continue to struggle to remember my dad’s birthday: Two-thirds of my life happened after my parents died, including all of my life in New Zealand and, especially, my life with Nigel, and I’ve now lived two years longer than they did. It’s all of that, not just that bit of trivia, that’s just plain weird to me.

Still, my parents, including their birthdays, are part of the tapestry of my life. That tapestry is a bit faded and threadbare in areas, and tattered around the edges, but it’s still here, and they were there when it was first being woven. That’ll always be a very special thing.

So, as always, thanks, Dad. And Happy Birthday!

Previously:
My Dad would be 105 (2021)
My dad would be 100 (2016)

Related:
Sunday Quiet (2009) – What Sundays were like when I was a kid
Like father, like son (2009) – A reflective post about sons imitating their dads and the freedom my dad gave me
Easter (2009) – Where I talk about my dad’s stage management
Good Friday Flashback (2011) – More about his stage management, with a photo
Arthur Answers Again, Part Two – Religion questions (2013) – I talk about being a preacher’s kid
AAA-14 Answer 7 – Loss and memes (2014) – I talk about the death of my parents
New Year’s Eve 2014 – In which I talk about one of my favourite memories of my dad