Open the first photo album you can find — real or virtual, your call — and stop at the first picture of yourself you see there . Tell us the story of that photo.
As for albums, they’re all of my children growing up and narry a one with me in them. They have those albums in their possession now, too, so am unable to browse for anything that would be of significance to this post.
Still, I managed to find something in Ma’s stash …
I’m the immodest child on the left. 😀
My older sister and brother are a ways away, smiling for the camera. This reminded me of the fact that not only was I unique in nature, with a will of my own, but that the bond between me and my siblings was apparently weak even then.
Story in the photo, eh? Let’s see now. We used to take a two-week family vacation every summer. We never once left the state for these excursions, and each year it was spent somewhere new and on a Great lake as opposed to the many inland varieties.
All I can recall about these trips at the age I am in the photo (3 or 4 maybe?) is the water, the beach, and bonfires we weren’t permitted to walk around, and if we left the folding chair designated to us by an adult, there would be hell to pay.
Maybe this is where my love of travel, water, seashell and shiny rock hunting, and all things adventure stem from, but I don’t know for sure.
I tried to replicate these jaunts as a married woman, wanting to instill in my own children that sense of wonder, excitement, and get-away spirit. Sadly, the ex half wasn’t in agreement, so most of our outings consisted of me and the kids on our own.
My son now has an aversion to travel while my daughter will only venture out with large groups of people.
I must have done something wrong … again.