I recall vividly an incident on Dad’s 85th birthday–that was 7 years ago. I had flown home for the Christmas holidays a bit early to be there for his birthday, and to help Mom fix a nice meal and a cake. After the meal was done and the cake was brought out, Dad remarked about the two candles atop it, and “8” and a “5”, gloriously lit for the occasion.
“But I’m not 85, I’m only 58.”
We all laughed, of course, thinking that he was making a typical joke–he claimed being 16 on many birthdays. But it soon became clear, as he insisted on the point, that he was not joking. I, like the others, were a bit taken aback. I explained that I myself was 51 and that if were really 58, then he became a father at the age of 7, which could not be the case. He thought about that for a minute and acknowledged that what I was saying must be true, though he still did not seem to believe it. There was no “aha” moment for him in which his mind snapped to clarity, only mild, transient confusion about two irreconcilable facts.