Dear Mother

Today I called home. I called home to talk to my parents, to wish my mother all the best for her birthday. Are you a family guy? I think I'm very attached to my folks at home, my brother in particular. And it's funny, because we don't speak very often. Same with my best friends back in Germany. All three of them. 

Anyway, I called home, I talked to my parents, asked my mother what she did today, told her how grateful I was for everything, and it turned out that it wasn't her birthday today. It's the right day in the wrong month. That whole incident made me look like an idiot son, which I undoubtedly am, of course, but it still hurt. 

I'm bad with birthdays. My brother Tobs knows that for sure. And I feel like it's been at least two years since Simon and K had their birthdays, either. I'm bad with birthdays, and my only excuse is that I don't care about my own. I love my mother for everything she went through that day, but I don't know. Now I'm here and I call her on the wrong day.