My dad would have turned 63 today.  I often wonder what he’d look like these days – I imagine a bit more white in his beard, and a few more laugh lines around his eyes.   

When I was in my first year at Queen’s, I totally forgot his birthday.  It wasn’t until a week later that my mom called and reminded me – of course I felt awful about it.  I wish my mom hadn’t waited a whole seven days to remind me of my unfortunate memory slip.  I’ve vowed that if, years from now, one of my boys hasn’t called by dinner on B’s birthday, I’ll be sure to place a discrete call to remind him.

These days, it’s pretty hard to forget a birthday.  Facebook ensures I know the birthdays of people I haven’t seen since high school, let alone close friends and family.  I predict there will soon be an application that automatically leaves birthday wishes on your friend’s wall so you don’t even have to think about it anymore.   

I actually get off pretty lucky with B.  Her birthday is on Valentine’s Day, so it’s practically impossible to forget.  That’s right – she’s a Dearlove born on Valentine’s.  Ain’t that sweet?