Diary of a LAN Manager

Four seventeen thirty-eight. No, these are not the winning numbers in the lottery; they are the words I heard my mother struggle to speak each time the various staff members at the clinic and in the hospital asked her to confirm who she was. Four seventeen thirty-eight. It was easier than trying to make them understand April, since the page they were looking at had the numeric convention of her date of birth. Four seventeen thirty-eight. April 17, 1938 was Easter Sunday. My grandfather was said to have called his firstborn his little Easter Bunny; my grandmother refused to let him name the child Bunny and settled on Bonnie instead. I don't remember my grandfather much, except that he had a huge smile, a booming laugh, and that he smoked cigarettes pretty much until his last day on earth in 1967 when he died of lung cancer. But I have no doubt that he loved his little "Bunny" very much, as did my grandmother. Because Easter is a moving holiday, it never fell on April 17th