The Eighth of January...

[fajrdrako]

My father was born on this day in 1919. He's be 92 if he were still alive. I don't remember ever actually celebrating his birthday when he was around - he wouldn't have wanted it. But I do remember that for many years I got sick on his birthday - usually with some dire flu that had me sick, miserable and feverish in bed for a week or two. I came to dread the day. I think it happened because of the combination of Christmas activity and extreme winter cold.

And now, every year I reach my father's birthday without having come down with something, I consider it a major triumph.

This year? I feel good. I hope this lasts.