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...

Graduation: a beginning and an end. But mostly a beginning because even the word commencement means more than just a ceremony; it means a beginning. The above photo was taken shortly after my high school graduation in 1996 (which looked a lot different from graduation this year, I must say). I'm on the right. The other two are Jeff and Michelle. The photo was taken for a short news story of importance because we had all come from Hot Springs and ended up in Broken Bow. We knew each other from one town and somehow all made our way to a different town in a different state, eventually graduating together. While Michelle is still my friend today (she's moving back to Nebraska soon), Jeff has gone under the radar and I'm not sure how to contact him. His father died a few years ago (right after his dad retired, I heard). His dad coached both my brothers. I recall him on school grounds before they moved with Jeff's younger brother. I instantly recognized him and wondered wh...

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...

I may not look like much of an athlete now, but once upon a time, I was. I was always involved in sports, up until I got pneumonia my junior year during basketball season. I never played another sport after that, as I hadn't recovered from pneumonia. I recall my mother blaming my sickness on me smoking marijuana (which I had never done) instead of actually mothering me in my sickness. If I had gone to a doctor earlier, perhaps the pneumonia wouldn't have progressed to the stage it did. But, as they say, it is what it is.   The photo above was taken during probably my last season of swim team, which ran during the summer. It looks like I'm doing the butterfly stroke, which is the most difficult. I recall being disqualified at least once for not doing it right. I was involved in swim team from the age of 10 until maybe 13, and those are not good years for a boy to be wearing a speedo. Pretty awkward. I stopped going to meets because I had a hard time getting rides. I rec...

Christmas. The word conjures so many memories and so much meaning for so many people. Christmas to me always meant family. Even though my family stopped celebrating Christmas when I was pretty young, we still did things like family trips to Florida (one year it was Omaha, but that was fun, too).  This post contains images from Christmas past. You see the living rooms of the two houses in Hot Springs we lived in. The first house had some pretty amazing red carpet. And red drapes and a couch that had a red floral pattern. Boy, somebody went overboard. Even the walls seem to be glowing red. The other house didn't have any carpeting that I recall. Maybe in one or two areas. Some of my scans are missing, and I'm not sure what happened to them. But they showed one of my most memorable Christmases, which is when I got the LEGO police station. I was thrilled about that, stayed up all night playing with it, and didn't even want to get up in the morning to check my stocking...

This photo was taken when I was one year old (1978). I was walking and playing with a ball. I know a little bit about child development, and that seems like a pretty nifty thing for being one year old. I was also as happy as can be. Most of the photos of me when I am very young show a vibrance and happiness that is missing in later photos. This proves that I was not always glum. Something happened in those early years that turned me that way.  I'm told I was potty trained before one year. I don't know. Those pants look pretty baggy, like I could have a diaper on. But it doesn't matter. I look happy, and that's what little kids should look like.  I should point out that most of the old photos taken by my mother look like this. People's heads are cut off. Massive foreground. Nothing is centered. It was like she jumped off a chair while taking photos. But their awfulness is endearing, of course. They are strange snapshots of moments I never would have known exis...