My birthday was never an event I celebrated with vigor as they were not allowed the excitement I had witnessed on television. There weren't friends pulled into a crescent around a cake while singing the designated song off key or even a small collection of gifts left on a table for my curious mind to conjure what sat beneath the wrapping paper or gift bags. Instead, every birthday of mine would be marked with a new sketchbook after my father made me a breakfast of undercooked pancakes and overcooked bacon, that I never had the heart to tell him was as unappetizing as wallpaper. But now, I questioned everything in the events of last night.
My mind picked apart Warren's attempts to smear my father's name and reputation, but at each try, his words would make sense to my father's actions. It
