They came to my nursery school one December and asked us if we knew what holidays were coming up. I replied with a few Zen comments. (My birthday is roughly a month after Christmas; whether I melded them together or the newspaper person took liberty with the context, I don't know.)
(Click any picture for a larger version.)
The following photoessay is entitled TOWHEADED SPATCH: A LOOK BACK IN SHORTPANTS
Most of these pictures were taken by my dad, a professional photographer as well as minister (and also EMT/firefighter. He wears a lot of hats.)
While I was never called Beveragebaby, I certainly could tell how my fondness for drinks started early on, even if I was prone to complaint now and then ("What do you mean, there's no half-and-half?!")
I was not a restless soul, but when the mood struck or the sermon ran too long, I'd often just up and find a change of scenery.
Ah, the advantages of being a Preacher's Kid. You walked tall like you owned the place.
The best fun was often the fun that resulted in the most entropy.
I was kind to animals. Our cat Ms. (it was the 70s, c'mon) was an early friend.
As was Boo-Boo, the blind cat.
Feeding ducks was also fun, though it took a while for me to realize ducks didn't like being hit with the bread first.
My loyalties were established at an early age.
I was not internationally known, but I was known to rock the microphone.
I ran around a lot.
And I climbed rocks a lot. Sometimes Dad would climb with me, too.
I was a born adventurer and natural leader...
...and I fed my followers well.
Running and climbing were all well and good, but I think I preferred this better.
Sometimes I suffered indignities for my art...
...but I managed to survive and look contemplative for another day.
All in all, though, I think I did just fine.
