Today would have been my grandfather's birthday. And, if the date hadn't happened to fall on a Saturday in 1975, it would've been mine as well.
I was supposed to be born on September 17th but I was three weeks late. Apparently my head was too big by that point to be born the regular way so the doctor wanted to schedule a c-section. My mom told him that her father's birthday was October 4th so could he do it that day? He told her that October 4th was a Saturday and he didn't usually work weekends, but how about the following Monday, October 6th? And so October 6th became my birthday so that it would fit into the doctor's office hours.
Sometimes I wonder why I was so late being born. Did I want to make sure I would be a Libra instead of a Virgo? Was I just too comfortable where I was? What makes a baby know that it's time to be born at all? No one actually knows the answer.
Anyway, my grandfather and I would always celebrate our birthdays together on the 5th. It was fun to share the celebration, but I was always glad that I ended up with my own special day. Now I'm glad for a different reason. I can remember my grandfather on his birthday, his special day.