Tears Tears Tears.

Rapidograph on Poster Board

Five years old - dressed in a clown outfit in August, standing next to the herb garden in my back yard. Third grade - sitting with my Father in a lounge chair, listening to Reggae. Christmas, 1981 on the sofa with my Father, smoking out of his pipe. 4th Grade, practicing my violin recidal in the kitchen - the kitchen has a random assortment of baskets and large cookie cutters. 1983 - Halloween, dressed up as a bum. Third Grade, in Montery Califofornia, feeding a monkey besides an organ grinder - a large tale of hair is very prominent. ~10 years old, standing next to a sunflower in my back yard - the sunflower is almost three times my height. 6th grade - in my kitchen, holding onto a pet squirrel, which died a few days later mysteriously. Some unkown date: Father in sweatpants and sweatshirt, fixing a Thanksgiving Turkey in a unconventional way. Some unknown date: My Father, wearing a trucker style hat (brown), blue shirt and short running pants on the front porch, holding a black crow - the other side of the photo says, "Dad + the 'Crow' she lived only one week-". Another unknown date - Halloween - again dressed up as a bum.

One day, my Sister sent me a shoebox, filled with nothing but snapshot pictures of myself. It also contained snippets of hair and all the teeth I gave the Tooth Fairie. Most of the pictures are from when I was in grade school or younger. It's basically the only recording of my childhood and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know if I want it. I look at the photos and they're - well, they're snapshots, mostly by my Mother with a 110 film camera. There's all these wholesome and/or cute poses and pictures, but I can't help but see a dark side to them all. Like, what the hell was I doing in a clown outfit? Why was I smoking a pipe, what were my Parents thinking? Maybe you'd have to know what happen to my Parents, how tragic they died and why so much random shit went on, when things needed to be Fixed, and they weren't and now they're dead and I'm left with a shoebox of snapshots of me on ponies and visiting the local fire department and unwrapping a tricycle on Christmas Day.

I don't want these photos because I don't want to see the lie that only I know that all these photos have embedded in them. This was a messed up family. Sure, no families are perfect, but I'd at least think that a family can't totally self destruct like mine did. It's the family that doesn't call each other at Thanksgiving.

All I can think of is that I was raised as a spoiled little shit that wasn't told what really was going on and now I'll never honestly know. But I have snapshots of smiles and happiness. Playing checkers with my Father, February, 1986. Playing checkers another night, February, 1986. Holding a stuffed alligator for some random contest the Parks and Rec. dept. had for a yearly festival; age 7?. Is this one of my Uncle (or was it cousin?) He's with his Boyfriend. But now he's a born again evangelical Christian. Less than 6 months old, at the dinner table, on my Mother's lap - I've been posed as if I'm taking a drink from her wine glass; my Mother has a large, beautiful smile...