Saturday, June 13, 2009
I've always wanted to begin my life story with "I was born a poor white child to sharecropper parents". You know, trying to be funny and all. Now that I look at some of the old pictures, I'm not too sure that wasn't closer to the truth than I thought. This is me at 3 years old and the family has gone on a picnic (we went on A LOT of picnics and day trips) to Wet Canyon on Graham Mountain. Other times, when my imagination runs wild, I would like to think that in 1957, paper bag dancing on table tops was all the rage and at the tender age of 3 I had shown a great proficiency at it. We would travel the country and I would support the entire family dancing for tips and baskets of food. That's my 4th pair of striped shoes, (having worn out the previous three pair in dancing marathons) and I don't know how many paper bags I've gone through. In reality, that's probably how I was dressed for the day and most likely Dad put the bag on my head and told me to smile at the camera. At this point I was the baby of the family and I was still in that stage of being the center of attention (somewhat). Sadly, you're only cute for so long.