So we're packing up the house where I grew up and have been living in since I was born. My sister found this picture of me.
I had thought that no pictures of me this young existed (I was the last of 4 children and my parents had got bored of taking an endless number of baby pictures by the time I came around.)
But here I am. My dad estimates I'm three years old in this first picture. I have a vague memory of that bell-tree and that airplane. My sister and I both have tactile memories of that corduroy jumper thing I'm wearing. I think it was one of those things I wore every single day.
I'm holding the guitar backwards, which is the intuitive way for a right-handed person to hold it. I didn't actually learn how to play the guitar until I took "Guitar I" in the 8th grade with Mr. Wasalition (sp?).
The second picture is me at the age of somewhere between the age of 13 and 16. (You can see that early on I gained a predilection for smoking jackets.) I contend that we still have this couch, it's just been reupholstered. Long hair didn't actually work that well for me, it took me a while to figure out.
Lastly, here I am at 42.
The very odd thing is how these pictures of me are all in exactly the same place and playing guitar. You can see that the sofa has changed (and that so-ugly-it-looks-fantastic wallpaper is gone). But the sofa is in the same place in the living room.
You know, I'd have thought I'd be a better guitar player by now. ;-)