As I’ve mentioned before, Dad always wanted to fudge the year of his birth. But instead of going whole-hog, and making himself a decade younger, or even five years younger, he chose three years. So he would say he was born in 1935 instead of 1932. It seemed so silly to me as a kid. Apparently, he continued this charade for his entire life, as his voter registration card in New Mexico has his birthdate listed as 4.10.1935. Those three years meant a lot to Dad!
But going through his belongings, I found the proof. His birth certificate. I doubt these things matter beyond this lifetime, but I’m sure if I could communicate with Dad now, he would still dispute my findings!