That's a close-up of a photo of a photo (see below) from my fifth grade year, the year I first started wearing glasses. My parents noticed that I seemed to have a hard time reading road signs, though I tried to fake my way through the I-See-the-A-in-the-San-Pablo-Exit-sign game as best I could. I recall being hit by the ball--softball, hardball, football, whatever--a lot as I tried to keep track of the slightly blurry object hurtling my way, but would I tell my folks? Let them think I was clumsy, for I was obviously trying to catch whatever came my way, but to admit I needed glasses! No way! What amuses me in looking at this shot from, what, 1971 is how much of myself I can see in that boy. I am not sure if a stranger could put my aging face together with that child's face, but friends and family should be able to see the same ears, chin, forehead, eyes (glasses and all), and smile.
I recommend pulling out old photos like this. If only to recall what being such a kid was like. I'm smiling there because I'm in the midst of a good time with my cousin Steve, and it's good to recall such good times, fleeting though they may be, fleeting though time itself has proven to be.
My parents picked out those frames, by the way. The thick plastic frames were very uncool at the time, but the folks hoped they'd be hardier than wire frames. I am not sure if I broke that pair, but I certainly broke the next two or three plastic frames playing sports in school.Later, when I convinced the folks to buy me wire frames, I showed them how easy it was to bend them back into shape, more or less, my first week after I got them. I doubt if those frames were really any more stylish.
What was that character's name from My Three Sons? Ernie? Something like that, right?
