So how old am I, Dad?
By: Carla Castillo
Tags: Comedy, Storytelling, First Post, Storyofmylife, Controversy

Photo by Patricia Prudente on Unsplash

In a couple of days I’ll be celebrating birthday number 32 or 33? In case you are wondering, how come I’m not sure? My date of birth is a bit controversial. For as long as I can remember there has been some uncertainty about the year I was born from the two most unexpected people, you guessed it, my parents, both equally important sources of truth, my mum who gave birth and, my dad who attended the birth; making it all the more difficult for me to disagree with either.

For a while, my mother’s account of events seemed the most credible, as you would expect, a mother should not forget the year her child was born, or at least you would think so. And it made me a year younger, which anyone would take full advantage of if this choice were available.

On the other hand, my dad who was present at the birth as a doctor himself and signed my birth certificate is convinced that I should be a year older.

I guess, I’m not the only one born in January, who has suffered from parents disagreeing about the year their child was born or am I? Think about how many people today, a few weeks into the new year still write the wrong date. This is either a very severe, extended hangover or a cheap excuse not to change diaries.

To put an end to this ridiculous situation, I spoke with both parties involved individually, and of course, in different locations as my parents have been divorced for 23 years now, which had always made it more difficult for them to agree, as they both are eager and have probably exhausted all their efforts now, to make sure they contradict each other no matter what; and all of this hassle, just to put an end to the controversy surrounding my date of birth.

First, I went to speak with my mother. She provided a copy of my birth certificate that clearly states that I was born in 1988, the year she is ‘for sure’, not exactly convincing though, that she gave birth to me; however, for some strange reason, just as I was about to solve and close the case, she questioned herself, possibly thinking out loud ‘why would your dad say that you were born in 1987? Am I messing up the years again?’, to which I replied ‘here we go again!’, with irony of course, then she said ‘well I’m forgetting things now and what does it matter anyway? The birth certificate clearly says 1988, so does your ID, and your passport, and your driving license, and that’s what counts! end of story’. Well, yes and no, her answer didn’t confirm anything, it only discredited her account of events which opened a door for my dad to explain his version of events. And yes, she hated it.

According to my dad, he is 100% percent sure that I was born in 1987 because he attended the birth and will never forget that, or so he says. Also, as expected knowing my dad’s tendency to always challenge my mother’s account, he produced some unexpected backing for his version of events, two nurses or as he proudly said ‘eye witnesses’, who could confirm when the birth certificate was signed. Now you probably wonder, why would he want to bother two nurses, possibly retired now, about a child who was born 32 or 33 years ago? They would have seen more children being born than anyone else, yet he expected them to keep track of them after birth? The chances are that they would not even remember attending my birth, as they would have simply gone from birth to birth, from room to room in a busy hospital.

Yet, dad was determined to win, to beat my mother’s argument, so I asked my dad to introduce me to these ‘lovely nurses’, his star eye witnesses, so I could speak with them, not that I was planning to do so, but I wanted to see my dad’s reaction. And what was it? He screamed out loud, very annoyed ‘Oh so you don’t trust me? Do you really think that me, your dad, your doctor, would lie to you?’ Yes, I had him! Then, I calmly said ‘I think neither you nor mum want to agree, as usual, and you both will have to accept the fact that you cannot remember, and I should stick to the date written on my birth certificate to end this unnecessary drama’.

And so I did. I guess I was hoping for some kind of honesty from both of my parents and that ‘thing that makes my birth special’ like when a kid wants to know whether his/her name has a special meaning. There was nothing special to the day I was born, apart from the fact that both my parents continue to claim it happened in different years.

In the end, it doesn’t matter in which year I was born, at least I exist and that at soon to be 32 or 33, I’m alive and have had so far an excellent time being so. The circumstances and events surrounding my date of birth remain unclear as both my mum and dad still cannot agree, and it is unlikely either will remember any more details. In any case, it will be happy 32 or 33 to me in a couple of days’ time. And as the years pass, I’m going to continue to tell the story of my parents disagreeing about the year I was born and use it to my advantage, perhaps knocking off an extra couple of years each time.