It’s 1968 and we’re in New Jersey.

No, it’s not. And in 1968 I know for a fact we were not in New Jersey. In 1968 we lived in the exact same town we live in now. Houston. (Hey, 40 years ago I lived here. I live here now. You’d never know I lived in about thirty places between the two, would you?… Unless you’ve been reading my blog for a long time.)

The doctor asked my dad what year it was. She asked him where we were. She asked him where in New Jersey we lived. (Is there an Alexandra? We didn’t live there, for sure.) She asked him who my sister was. He thought she was Kristy (her best friend) or Glenda (his secretary about thirty years ago. Or at least those are the names he said. When I gave him three names, he picked hers correctly.

He also said my nephew and two nieces are A (correct), Tom (my niece?), and Katie (what he used to call his baby sister).

He did know my name and had asked to see “my boys.”