Don’t open that album

While up in Lagrange, I went digging through some stuff and happened upon a few photo albums in an end table. Oh, my gosh. Der Bingle with curls all over the place, my dad holding Robert William and slim me in front of 162 C University Village at Iowa State – 1969.

How ever did so much time pass? And I’m not so sure about all the picture taking. Maybe it was better where every now and then someone snapped a photo – black and white with scalloped white print border. You just can’t step into a picture, even though there you are, with the vague memory of the light breeze that was catching my hair. I suppose I’ll have to scan these photos –  my dad so young-looking and a little boy’s blond hair.

I’m gathering my stoicism to open the sack of photos that weren’t included in albums, but as I gathered them up, I believe I had a glimpse of the little blond boy’s chubby blonde mother, wearing summer shorts with ruffles on her butt and Great Aunt Sara offering a steadying hand.