Happy birthday to my dad, born on this date in 1942. To him and to my mother, I owe everything good in my life; to him I also owe my penchant for pestering, needling, and the other “Teutonic” forms of humor my mother, and now Abby, must endure. A consistent pattern of our interactions is captured in that second photograph, taken by mom: one of us reading, the other interrupting.
Congratulations to Tragos for actually wishing him a happy birthday before I did!

Quora