Today is one of the acknowledged dates of my mother's birthday.  At one point when she was young, her family fled their home in Manila for the countryside during the Japanese occupation.  Important documents, jewelry, and other cherished things were buried in the backyard area in mason jars, including my mother's birth certificate.  When she and her family returned to Manila, not all jars were recovered and my mother's birth certificate was lost.  She eventually had her documents recreated, but the birth date was filled in from memory.  Evidently, with eight other siblings, no one in her family could agree on the exact day of her birth.  What most remembered is that she was was born in late June, and it was thus that June 26th and June 28th became variously cited as my mother's birthday.  Even after she came to the US, these two different dates were reflected on her naturalization certificate, passport, and driver's license. 

I always thought it odd, even funny, that no one in her family could agree on when my mother was born.  For my mother is was never a big deal.  She just liked to be recognized on at least one of those days.

Happy birthday, mom.  I love you.