A Life in Shreds and Patches, I: In Search of a Vocation, Part B
Even my birthdate used to be a source of confusion, especially when it came time to celebrate my birthday. My mother always claimed April 26, while my father held out for the 27th. Mothers being mothers, my party was celebrated on the 26th until I was perhaps 15, when they got hold of a birth certificate that said in black and white: April 27. Both of them immediately declared, “You see, I was right!” What was the name of your first pet? is another favorite question to inflict on failing memories. I vaguely remember a cat, when I was very...



