my careless contagion

With this post, I wrap up my photo memories (and, soon, this blog). I was originally going to share this photo with my Christmas memories. However, something caught my eye. And I'm not talking about whatever is on the surface of the photo. It's a great shot, probably taken by either my grandmother or a family friend. I was very young, and this was taken at our first house. I've ruined my fair share of family photos. I was always the one making faces or putting bunny ears on someone. It was typical lastborn stuff, though not always appreciated. No one cares anymore. But this photo is darn near perfect. Except I'm looking at my mom while everyone else is looking at the camera. I was enjoying the fact that everyone was happy for a moment. And that's what we forget: photographs are just moments. They don't always tell us the whole truth. But I can tell those smiles are genuine.  What I like about this photo, and this is why I chose to close with it, is it sho...

Herein lies some random memories in no particular order. These are some of my earliest memories, so they took place at our first house in Hot Springs.  The above photo (why am I always half-naked?) shows me and Jon picking some beans at our neighbor's house. I recall they went on vacation or something and we picked some of their produce. This really made an impression on me, as I still recall the strange feeling of being somewhere we normally weren't allowed to go. That was probably my first experience with a garden. I was the only one in my family who had a garden growing up. I was very responsible and took care of it, watering it every day and weeding when necessary. This is something I've come to realize about myself: I've always taken care of things. Had my life been a little different, I probably would have been an even more nurturing person, but I still do take care of things.   A lot of old pictures, I am marching to the beat of my own drummer. The abo...

I have two older brothers. We are each separated by about 3.5 years. My oldest brother is seven years and seven days older than me. My blog has commented a lot on my childhood and what I now know were abusive aspects of it. However, it wasn't always abusive. There was a lot of love in my family. The photo dump in this post shows much affection. My father cradles a sleeping baby Joshua. My brothers are feeding me, playing with me, bathing with me, and, in general, doting over me. It may be a case of "they're cute when they're young," but it's hard to ignore this part of my reality. I was genuinely accepted and loved on when I was little. At the top, there appears to be some play-acting. I'm about three years old and wearing a diaper (without a cover) which I don't need. Am I baby Jesus? Is Jon Joseph with his coat of many colors? Something odd is going on, but we're having fun. And I'm thankful my diaper stayed up. Jon and I often took b...

The above photo shows a bit of family togetherness, with my dad's Honda road bike (a short-lived financial excursion) as the glue. Considering the financial difficulties at the time this photo was taken, it makes sense the bike was not a permanent fixture in our lives. I remember the one and only ride I took on this bike with my dad driving me home after school, me clinging for dear life, bobblehead helmet on, looking like some sort of alien. Hotel room stays always meant I got the rollaway bed or cot. Youngest children frequently get the short end of the stick, and not just genetically. Older siblings (especially the oldest) get the best of everything. Youngest children get leftovers if there are any. But I didn't know that at the time. I just thought I was special to have a different bed. I think the above photo was taken on our family trip to Disney World in the mid-80s. An awful lot of old photos show the three boys not wearing much. We must have been tremendously h...

The month of April means quite a few things to me.  On April 1, my ex and I found out she was pregnant. We didn't tell anyone that day six years ago because they would have thought it was an April Fools' joke. It was the beginning of big changes. It was also the month I decided (with God's blessing, though not His directive; I never felt He was telling me) I should upend our lives and start over in South Dakota after putting down roots in Ohio for the better part of two decades. My ex lived there for three decades. It was a big move for us, especially because she was pregnant. All that stress, did it impact my son in the womb? I don't know.  In April six years ago I stopped drinking. I don't know the exact date. I was an avid homebrewer. Though I was no stranger to liquor, my preference was always beer. Liquor tasted like burning. Beer tasted malty, roasty, hoppy, and next to perfect. Still, I felt I had to quit. Starting over in life isn't easy, and ...