The Baby Writes
(I don’t usually get personal but I wanted to write this and what’s the point of having a blog if you don’t get to indulge yourself once in a while?)
My family moved house about six months ago and we’ve only just recently gotten all the furniture and shelves needed to store things, so we’ve been bringing boxes out of storage. Naturally, this means we’re finding random things that noone even knew we had, such as a letter written by me and my brothers that was probably written when I was eleven or so apologizing for being bad (doesn’t say what our crime was though) to our parents. It’s a terrible thing to read, because all I see is my spelling and grammar mistakes (“were sorry we shuldnt have been bad”) What was I thinking!?
I’ve found some awesome stuff too, mostly in the form of old photo albums. I love looking at old photos, a glimpse into the past, seeing how people were before you were there to know them. I’ve found and scanned what is now my favorite picture ever. I’d never seen it before last shabbos. It’s my dad and I on a train, with my dad pointing my attention to the camera my mother (I assume) was holding. It’s very weird to look at, because it’s a picture of my dad at around my age, he was a few years older then than I am now. I’ve never really seen pics of my parents early married life. And my dad had some funky sunglasses, but I can forgive that. It was the eighties after all. But still it’s a snapshot at two people, one at the start of his life and one near the start of his adult life. It just makes me ponder all the things that have happened since then and the things neither of us could have known or expected, in this fleeting moment of innocence. To me it’s a picture of a world where nothing exists but the love of a father for his son. And they’re on a train, which ties into my idea of both being caught in a moment not knowing where life will take them from here.
As you can see, my hairstyle hasn’t changed a great deal, though those of you who’ve met me know that my hair is considerably darker now. True story: when we had to give in our baby pictures for my high school yearbook, noone believed my picture was me.
By the way, the title for this is both the obvious and also a tie in to the fact that The Babysitter had a very similar post where she found some letters she’d written to her mother years before. I don’t think hers were apologies for misbehaving though… (I’d link it, but I’ve looked through both her blogs and I can’t find the post.)
Edit: The Babysitters post is here.