Many apologies for a blip in the memory bank

So, here's what happened. And don't expect to read a bunch of excuses. It is what it is.

Let's start with a little background.

If you want to keep track of appointments, events we've bought tickets for and so forth, you do not ask me. You consult my wife.

My wife keeps a calendar. It's a real paper calendar with slots for every day of the year.

On the other hand, I sometimes remember to enter digital reminders in the calendar app on my iPad. Sometimes.

If there is something I really, really need to be on time for, like my annual medical exam, I write it on a Post-It note (I prefer yellow) and stick the note somewhere it can't be missed. My wife will cheerfully inform you that yellow sticky notes do not blend well into any decor. But there you are.

Among the many things she keeps track of in her all-encompassing calendar, my wife is a whiz at tracking birthdays. She even serves on a committee at church that is responsible for sending birthday greetings to members. She likes to get special cards for special friends and family members. It's worth the effort for my wife, because she gets such positive reactions: smiles, thank-yous, words of joy.

The only thing my wife cannot, for some reason, keep track of is our wedding anniversary.

That's right. After nearly 51 years of wedding anniversaries, my wife gets the date right about two out of 50 times.

Sure, she remembers we were married in June. So were a lot of other couples. And she remembers it is nearer the middle of June than either end. But she's usually a day off, one way or the other.

No one in our family can figure it out. Here is the keeper of all things calendar-y, and one of the big events of the year gets lost in the muddle.

So, you're still waiting to find out what happened.

Here goes.

Earlier this month my wife went shopping for birthday cards for our older son. Since his birthday is less than a week after Valentine's Day, this card-shopping expedition included buying cards with hearts for family and friends.

Mission accomplished, we took the valentines and our son's birthday cards to the post office and deposited them in the proper slot.

It's a good feeling to mail greeting cards. You can anticipate the smiles when the brightly colored envelopes are opened. If you can't be there in person, the United States Postal Service is a good ally to have.

All day last Sunday I was thinking about our older son. Most of all, I was wishing he would telephone. When we call him, we always get his voice mail. So I was thinking how nice it would be if, out of the blue, he called us.

Lo and behold, I got what I was wishing for. Early Sunday evening, the phone rang. It was, indeed, older son. We told him how wonderful it was to hear from him and how we had been thinking about him in far-off Boston.

We chatted about the usual things, and then he thanked us for the birthday cards. That's when it hit my wife and me like a boulder out of you-know-where.

Our son was calling on Sunday. His birthday was Saturday. We had not called to leave the crazy version of "Happy Birthday" we sing for his voice mail every year.

This is what every parent dreads. In all of our failures as parents, large or small, we had never, ever missed calling our sons on their birthdays. Never.

You want to know what it feels like when you find out you just flat-out missed this milestone in your son's life? I'll tell you. You feel like a four-letter word that I can't write for publication in a family newspaper. That's what you feel like.

We had absolutely no excuse. None whatsoever. We had not been so busy Saturday that we were distracted in any major way. We had made a couple of shopping excursions Saturday, enjoying the fantastic sunny weather. We had, on the whole, enjoyed a leisurely Saturday.

And we forgot it was older son's birthday.

One thing we did to try to paper over our lapse was to wish our son a happy birthday -- for next year, 365 days in advance. There would be no forgetting next year's big day.

That's not the same, though, is it? I have the yellow sticky note ready to put up. But I wonder if posting a reminder a year in advance will work. Won't we just take the yellow blob for granted after a few weeks?

No, we have to buck up and do what parents do. We have to make sure this never, ever happens again. Ever.

Happy birthday, son. Even if it's a week late, it's still heartfelt.

Now, to get back into the daily grind: Do any of you know where I put my checkbook?

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.