A few weeks ago my mom came out for a visit and brought hundreds of old photos with her. Every single one of them had me in them, she’d sorted through all these old pictures in her house and gave myself and my siblings these old treasures; we each got a pile of ourselves. Some of them I’d seen a hundred times, and some I’d never seen.
Ugh, the memories.
Going through these gave me such a wave of emotions but not in a sappy, blubbery way. Mostly, I laughed and simply basked in the nostalgia that was.
Then, I came across this one:
Hot damn, I loved that sweater. Wore it in my school photo that year…
I’m sure my mom had to throw it away while I was at my dad’s for the weekend and console me when I noticed it was “missing” once it was too ill-fitting. Life has a silly way of bringing you up and tearing you down, while the universe quietly humbles you (with insanely large chompers).
Flipping through these photographs provided me with some insight: life was happening, the whole time. When I do the minimal memory seeking, it’s easy to forget the candidness and realness that was. Mindful memories will only give me what I want it to give, while the pictures provide the backstory.
I do remember that day, the one when the photo up there was taken, but I didn’t remember the loveliness that was just spinning around and dancing in my backyard. 1993, nine years old and my mom saught to capture me, the same way I capture my ten-year-old with my smartphone.
She probably had to wait a week to get that back. Who knows if she would have even kept it, nonetheless printed if it was today’s day and age. I’m going to start printing pictures of my kid, keep them somewhere safe, and someday I’ll hand him a big ol’ stack and let him reminisce in his own way.
I do have some honorable mentions because I wouldn’t go through hundreds and only share those, that’d be selfish.
These two are to prove that resting bitch face is something that can be detected early on. I’m sure I was happy, even though I look way less than impressed.
These two are to show my killer fashion sense. Scrunchies and jean jackets are life…
And finally, these two are to show that whatever year this was, was the absolute worst (and you should never, ever cut your own bangs).