There’s something magical about seeing an old picture of yourself, from a time so far back that you literally cannot remember being in that place, wearing those clothes or committing those acts. And yet it has to be you…the evidence is incontrovertible.
So much of my early life involved capes. Also, I remember this dart gun. When she told me to put it down once, I shot my great grandmother with both spring-loaded barrels. She won, by promptly whipping me. Daaaamn, Granny.
Ah, Freeport. This is the ditch I would sit in while my dad welded offscreen. Sometimes he’d send me to the bar across the street (seen here with these ‘vintage’ autos) for soft drinks or a burger basket. Good times!
Me and mom, on the see-saw. One of her many hair styles.
Doesn’t everyone love booth photos? I do.
A friend brought me this from his childhood collection. It’s him, his brother, me, my brother and a mutual cousin my friend and I share via marriage. Seeing this was surreal, since I didn’t meet my friend for another 6-7 years after this pic was taken. In other words, at some point, well before we hung out and knew each other, he and I were photographed at the same little kid birthday party.
Last one is my mom. She’s quite fetching here.