Yesterday my sister and I looked through all the old photographs that we could get our hands on. They were pretty much all over the place. Some were in albums and others in boxes. I look back at all those photos and realize that sometimes being the baby of the family sucks. There are barely any pictures of me. Most of them are of my older sister and brother. Even after I was born I still was not included in many of the shots of them standing beside one another. Which leaves the question, where the hell was I?



My theory is that I was showered with attention so there was no time for pictures to be taken which is really a reach but denial is always better than acceptance.



It is neat to look at how we change. When I was a kid I had white hair. It was so white that it is blinding, now I have dark brown hair. Some things haven’t changed; in most pictures I can still be found hanging off of pretty girls.



I also found my baby book and scanned it for the key moments of my life. I was born at 1:55am and weighed 7lbs 8oz. The only other interesting thing was my first 2 words, “mine” and “go”. I presume I needed “go” to get my brother to leave me alone. This had no affect since he tortured and pummeled me for years and years after that. The other word just reflects my selfish nature, which I am still trying to overcome.