Me in the 1970s, dressed to the 9s. Or the 8s, or however old I was when it was taken:
You would totally buy a book with this photo on the back of the dust jacket, right? No? Is the unbuttoned jacket a bit much? How about this, then?
Oh yeah. Everyone loves a dimple and a little dot on the chin.
So this week I reached into the giant stack of old schoolwork and other papers that my parents sent me several years ago. This time I pulled out a contribution to that great American literary genre, the epistolary road trip memoir:
So in last week’s post, “Safe/Scary“, I dredged up an ancient kind of creepy-looking sort-of Venn diagram from elementary school from the pile of old papers my folks sent me years ago. This assignment was to list things that were “safe” on one side and “scary” on the other. One of my “scary” items was “Going to get stitches”. This prompted an email from my folks with a photo of my first “Going to get stitches” episode, in which I tripped and fell on my face on the sidewalk at my grandparents’ house:
It’s been a while since I reached into the giant stack of old schoolwork and other papers that my folks sent out to me a few years ago, so I thought it was time to do that again. And what did I fish out? This vaguely creepy little pseudo-Venn diagram:
It’s been a while since I reached into the great big stack of elementary school documents and assignments that my folks shipped out to me a while back, so I thought that this week, instead of another teaser from Great North Road, I would go get something out of the pile of forty year old papers. And so I present to you this “Happy/Sad” assignment:
A few weeks ago I was putting something away in the closet and noticed the stack of old papers (writing, report cards, permanent records, etc.) that my folks sent out a while back, and I realized I hadn’t done an “Early Years” in, like, forever*. So I rummaged around in there looking for something fit to print. And lo! Here is something about being fit. Close enough.
So last week, I posted an ancient report card progress report and mentioned that when I played the clarinet, our dog, Miss Marple (AKA “Missy”), would plant herself in front of me and howl. I further mentioned that it was too bad there was no video because it probably would have made us―or at least Missy―Internet stars. Well, there’s still no video, but since my dad knows where all his pictures are, there is, at least, photographic evidence:
Continue reading “The Early Years: Jim’s Clarinet Sounds Like A Chicken”
