My father was telling me a story recently, a story I've heard before over the years, about his last bar fight - which occurred on New Year's Eve in 1951. My mother was present, and apparently did not approve.
Despite having heard the story before, a new thought occurred to me when he told me the date, and I interrupted him.
"I was there," I said.
"Yes, you were," he said, and continued with his story.
I was young, too young to recall
these events at all.
I was, in fact, an embryo,
floating around in utero.