October's a Busy Month for Birthdays

I have a theory that the mind stores dates (and telephone numbers) in a different place than it stores everything else. Furthermore, in some unexamined process some dates  replace previously stored records when a (ridiculously small) finite limit is reached. With eight brothers' and sisters' birthdays to remember, friends' birthdays are pushed right out there to the limit, which explains why I can remember Ellen's and Tony's birthdays but have no idea when Jonathan's is and only occasionally remember Donna's. My theory doesn't account for the fact I have often sent birthday wishes to Donna on 29 September when her birthday is actually the 27th. You'd think that I'd just remember it's either the 27th or the 29th and, since all my previous guesses have been late, her birthday must be the 27th. I obviously haven't worked out all the details of this theory, but at least I know that's apparently not how my mind works.

Then, there's October 9th. I knew that was somebody's birthday but I couldn't think whose it was. I was sure I had a notation somewhere, so I spent much of last night during the Nebraska/Missouri game searching files and old notebooks for the subject of today's post. I did finally find what I was looking for and maybe the search will fix it in my mind, but I've decided that while using birthdays is a convenient and appropriate method of choosing a subject for a given post, it could lead to people expecting posts on their birthdays and then I'd be embarrassed if I left someone out, which would surely happen eventually. Therefore, this will be the last dedicated birthday post. I can't take being on the hook (if only in my own mind) for an endeavor which is bound to fail eventually.

Tim's birthday is October 9. Our paths first crossed 40 years ago down at NAS Kingsville when he was transferred in from NAS Whidbey Island. The picture above, taken in June 1977, shows Tim and his new bride, Beverly, on the Sausalito side of the Golden Gate, with the bridge in the background. They'd come back from their Hawaiian honeymoon and stopped off in San Francisco for a couple of days. Sally and I drove up from NAS Lemoore to meet Beverly for the first time.

 

I got out of the Navy in February 1978 and in May of that year the FAA decided to give me a chance to continue in air traffic control and let me make decent money doing it. (The Navy would've let me do the first, but wasn't interested in the second.) As soon as we found out I was going to be working in Brownsville tower, Tim and I jumped into a Piper Warrior and flew down to Brownsville to "scope out" the area. Enroute, we passed through NAS Kingsville's airspace (above) chatting over the air with former coworkers in Approach Control. I found out later that we had been tracked from Fort Worth to Brownsville by the DEA as drugrunners, and the only reason we weren't pounced upon when we landed at the Brownsville airport is that the only place we visited in Brownsville was the tower and the facility chief's office. I was in the office when the chief answered the phone. He read back the side number of our airplane and, when I told them that was our plane, he told his caller, "One of them is here in my office and the other is up in the tower." He told me at the time that it was one of Tim's friends at the air route traffic control center checking up on him. He told me a couple of months later - as I was on my way out the door - that it had really been the DEA.

 

This picture of Tim and my dad, was taken in June 1979 at Cathie's and Brad's wedding reception in Grand Prairie. Tim and Dad always got the biggest kick out of each other. When PATCO went out on strike a couple of years later, Dad told Tim it was an illegal strike but that dad would hide him when the US Marshals came after him. Anyone who knew my dad would be shocked to hear him make such a statement.

 

I've already mentioned in other posts that Tim and Beverly - among others - often came with us on our periodic family weekend campouts at Inks Lake and, for as long as they had their boat, Tim and I dragged lots of Parkers all over the lake. The picture above (with Michael's son, Joey) was probably taken in May 1981 and the one below in September 1982.

 

 

In 1983 - note that Tim has different hats in the previous pictures - Tim brought the boat down so we could play on Lake Travis. Whenever I look at this picture I start laughing because I remember that as Tim was pushing David on the float, he was explaining to David all about "lake sharks". Then he spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince David that he'd just been kidding.

 

We moved to Georgia in March 1985 and into a new house the following September. Tim and Beverly and their daughter Amy were our first houseguests - not counting Tony who was there to help move on the day our household goods arrived. In the picture above, Amy, Dallas, and Tim are playing "go fish".

 

Sixteen years took its toll on both of us. In 2002 on one of my business trips to NAS Pax River, Tim drove down from DC to meet me at Paul's house in Virginia. Paul took this picture of us when Tim arrived to take me to dinner.

I keep waiting for him to retire, but apparently the feds can't do without him. For a long time I've had this recurring image of Tim and me on the porch of a cabin somewhere, kicked back with our feet up on the rail, sipping Jack Daniels out of iced tea glasses. . . but I guess he'll have to slow down a lot before he can catch up with me.

Happy Birthday, Tim !