When I was seven my parents forgot about my birthday because they were on a three-day cruise in the Caribbean. We didn’t have that much money, but my father won the cruise on a game show, so for him and my Mother it was really big deal. Looking back on it, I recognize how momentous the trip must have been, since neither of my parents had ever even been out of central Ohio, but as a seven year old boy alone with a babysitter on my birthday, it was pretty devastating. I assume my parents just forgot; the game show gave them tickets for a specific date and they had to go then, so when they accepted, the probably weren’t thinking about me. Nevertheless, I wanted to call them, ask them how could they do this to their only son, why had they forsaken me and that kind of thing, really ply the guilt, but that was in the days before cell phones, and there was no way of reaching them that I knew of. When I told the babysitter, a bored high school student with a blonde ponytail and a liking for gum, that my parents had forgotten my birthday, she didn’t believe me. She assumed that I just wanted attention, which I did, but I was telling the truth. When I showed her my birth certificate, which my parents kept in my dresser, she looked at me with shock first, then pity, and bought me a happy meal.