It took Jecht nineteen years to remember his son's birthday. [Written for ff_flashfic's "Birthdays" challenge. Pre-game.]
Jecht didn't get him anything for his birthday. He forgot.
For his ninth birthday, his friends got him blitz stuff and tickets to games. His mom was the one who forgot his birthday this year, still moving in a dream world, expression changing from hopeful to downcast with one swing of a door.
Jecht's gift that year was the usual - his absence. A little more permanently than before, that was all.
On his tenth birthday, Tidus nearly got arrested for vandalism - he'd gone out to kick the hell out of Jecht's memorial, yelling that it was all his fault, that he was glad he was dead, tears blurring with the rain until he couldn't see. Auron had let him rage and yell until it was all burnt out of him, then carried him home.
When he tried to put the boy down, Tidus wouldn't let go. He missed his mom and the tears wouldn't stop. Auron had ended up sleeping upright on the sofa, still holding him.
Fifteenth birthday, Tidus made the Zanarkand Abes - the youngest player in the history of the team - and found in the next few years that fame meant he was never short of birthday presents.
Nineteenth birthday, Jecht finally remembered. He gave him the only present he could.
The chance to live outside the dream.