In the Dailies

In a former lifetime I was an artist. A magnet school in Philly accepted me as a fine art major, specializing in drawing, painting and color theory. I even taught the subjects briefly at a boarding school in Switzerland.

But those days are long, long past. My portfolio and a random collection of works have collected dust in every home we’ve occupied. Well, we’re running out of space, so last weekend I started another round of purging. Extra sheets, never-used towels and too-small clothes were all tossed into the “donate” pile. Then I bumped into my box of past-life treasures. There, tucked randomly in a box of charcoal sketches, I found this:

Can you find me? It’s not terribly difficult considering there’s only one blond female in the photo, but, for those who really can’t tell, here’s a close-up.

I can’t remember exactly when this was taken, but I’m guessing around 1988. I think I was twelve or thirteen, but I really don’t remember and, unfortunately, there’s no date on the picture. But it had to be before fourteen. That was the age when I finally gave up the lovely Annie-like perm that was so popular back then.

Disregarding the date, here’s what I know about the who and where. It was a family vacation with his, hers and ours. That’s my dad. The little guy in front of me is my younger brother, Ted. (You may remember him from this post.) Sitting between me and my step-mom is my half-brother, Andrew. The rest (Melinda, Eric, and Kevin) were siblings I gained when Dad and Donna got married (and lost when they got divorced a few years later). We were in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The first week of our vacation was spent on a houseboat on some big lake down there. That was fun. The rest of the time was spent camping between Dollywood and the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.

We didn’t realize until after the photo was framed and hanging in the family dining room that certain animosities may have surfaced. Take a gander at the aim. Yup. Ted’s shooting Donna, Dad’s shooting me, and both my step-brothers are gunnin’ for my father. Huh. Well, at least we’ve got plenty of alcohol to tend the wounded and comfort the mourning.

For more blasts from the past or stories that make your family look like the Cleavers, check out We Are That Family and the ‘Fro Me to You Carnival.