About ten years ago, my mother gave me a packet of letters - primarily ones that she had written to her parents during my father's Navy tour of duty in Nice. I've mentioned before that I was born in Nice. I don't think I've mentioned that I was conceived in Paris. I know this borderline (for an uptight person like myself) embarrassing fact, because, last summer, when I was visiting my father in Williamsburg, I mentioned to him that I'd read an interesting letter among those that my mother had given me. He didn't seem to be paying too close attention until I began to describe the letter and, specifically, the fact that they'd almost missed the train to Nice, because they'd gone "out on the town" their second night in Paris, when they stopped there en route to his new duty station in Nice. Dad suddenly became very interested and said, "I remember that night! That's the night you were conceived." I'll spare you the details he shared, but he said they'd joked about it for the rest of their married lives.
With my mother and older brothers on a ship headed home to the States in 1958.