I reconnected with a childhood friend on facebook last night. She and her husband still live in the house next door to the one we lived in when I was in middle school. We chatted a bit online, posting back and forth on each other's walls and filling in the largest of the gaps of the last thirty-three years. Somewhere in the conversation, it occurred to me that today was her younger brother's birthday, so I asked her about it, and she confirmed my memory.
I was telling my mom about it this morning, and she wondered whether our former neighbor had been surprised about such a remarkable recollection. "She didn't seem to be," I reported and then laughed. "Do you know how I remember that?" I asked my mom. "Because the day that Nixon resigned was his eighth birthday. That made a big impression on me at age twelve."
"Didn't we go to Great Adventure that day?" my mom responded.
"Yep, and out to dinner for Chinese food," I added. "Remember? Granddaddy was there, but he didn't go with us. He paid for everything, though. And then the president resigned."
So, Happy Birthday, Bobby.