That is a hard question. A very good day was in the early summer of 1940 when I made my "First Confession" (I was brought up a very fervent Roman Catholic.)
My birthday was not good, rather it was traumatic. January 20th 1934. I was born with four teeth and, according to my mother, who was there at the time, I bit the hand of the mid-wife who was pulling me out of my mother and into Liverpool. It was a freezing cold day and I was very shy even at that age.The mid-wife screamed with horror, she had never been bitten on the job before and she struck me on the head in the area of the medulla oblangata. She had very sharp knuckles and her name was Mrs. Fogarty. From that moment on I was very impressionable and I was inclined to believe anything the Irish told me. Fogarty is a very popular name in County Cork, where Father Sharkey, the priest who heard my first confession came from. Is it beginning to add up for you?