I think I was being baptized this day at our Lutheran church. This is one of my favorite pictures of my family surrounding me. To the left is my proud papa, behind my mother are his parents Mildred and Harvey. Maternal grandmother Louise is to the right of my mother. The date is, I believe, April 1969. All in the picture are now deceased.
I don't scroll through photo's of my family when I pick up an album. I study. I look intensly for any clues to what was going on that day or who was doing, eating, sitting, laughing what and where. I have to. Because the memories I need to now hear about are with those in the photo's. It really bums me out at times. I know God is good but there are days when I just wonder why I was picked for the short end of the familial stick!
I was born to two people on their second marriage. A first child for my mother and a third for my father. I have been told by other family members that I was desperately wanted by my parents. They must have figured that by the ages of 42 and 44 if a child didn't come soon, it would be too late. So I was born in Jan. 1969. We lived in this great little two bedroom house on Bell Ave. My mom kept a clean and neat home. From the photos I see we went a lot of places when I was little. Virginia, Florida, Michigan, PA etc. I love the picture of my mom and I on the beach in Florida with the seagulls dancing about our heads. I want to go ask her about it. I want details of this trip. What was the exact city? Did I have fun? I can't remember as I was only 3.
I study the next picture of our house on Bell. Countless times I played with my Hotwheels in that driveway, Easter photos on the front steps, building snow forts in the front yard, playing horseshoes on the side near Cebula's house. The tall tree that strongly held my favorite tree swing (on old tire), summer nights on the patio off the garage watching TV outside with mom and dad, watching mom hang out our clothes while I relaxed in the kiddie pool.
Okay, this means nothing to you, maybe, but for me. A mecca.