For the longest time as a teenager, and then early adulthood I had this theory that time began when I was born.
I’m not self-centered…okay, maybe I am, but really, for a kid, doesn’t the world revolve around them? In this week that I’ve been visiting my parents I’ve been appreciating very much what they did for me as a child. The simple magical thing called dinner is amazing. When I’m at home alone, like every other single person on the planet, if I don’t cook, or go out for dinner, or order in, there is no food. At my parents house, ’round about the same time every day, food magically appears on the table. I don’t even have to think about what I might want to eat, shop, cook, think – anything!
I was born in 1969 – November of 1969. When in conversations about age I tell people that I was alive for a tiny bit of the 60’s, so I can in some way relate to the whole drugged-out, free-love thing that we all associate with the 60’s. 1969 had Woodstock. 1969 had the first moon landing. 1969 had my birth. It was quite an eventful year!
If I was to get into a conversation with someone about something that happened before I was born, it was “before time began”. What I find funny about this now, is that I am now fascinated by history. I love researching and ‘discovering’ history on my own. I’ve never been one to be taught anything…I have to learn it on my own for it to really matter. I’m the same way for life lessons. Although people have tried to make my life easier for me by sharing their life’s lessons, I ignore them and have to go through it all myself for it to mean anything to me.
So…this entry, as you can tell is all about me. I’ve mentioned that I found some photos of me when I was a child during this trip to my parents. I thought I’d share them with you. The first one, at right, is me at about 2 years old wearing the lederhosen that we bought when we were living in Germany. My older brother was sitting to my left, but I cut him out of the photo because this entry isn’t called “let me share the spotlight”. The photo was, I’m told, taken by my Uncle Jim, with us sitting on the stairs of my grandparents house in Ottawa. The house has been sold, the grandparents are dead – this photo is all that remains capturing that day.
At left is my favourite photo of me. It was taken by the same uncle when I was 8 months old, right here at the lake I’m visiting my parents at. My family moved back to Canada when I was 8 months old. I imagine this is one of the first places we came as it was the hub of my mom’s family at the time. This photo was taken in July of 1970. Aren’t I cute?
This brings us to today. I’m not a photogenic person. I weigh more than I should and cameras tend to focus on that, in my opinion. I’m sure if I was rich and could hire a professional photographer to pose me in all sorts of unnatural ways and then use an airbrush thing to make me look better, I’d probably do that. I can imagine sending people those photos – here’s a photo of me looking absolutely nothing like what I look like! Don’t you feel closer to me already?
To make this entry complete, though, I thought I should go take a picture of myself. Keep in mind all the things you would say if you were sharing a horrid photo of yourself with the world – bad day, haven’t shaven, was being attacked by armadillos, etc. Here’s your first glimpse at what Charles looks like in real life. Don’t scream too loudly when you run away – it might wake the neighbours.
Thanks for visiting.