My sister sent me the following photos from back in the day…
Yo, where’s the flood? I also suspect this was just some random car we were posing against as I distinctly recall my father’s tank-like maroon Ford LTD.
For some inexplicable reason, my mother liked to keep my hair long when I was a kid, thus ensuring I was occasionally mistaken for a girl in elementary school. My sister, on the other hand, always sported a bowl-cut secured her standing as my little brother, Andy.
The fashion crimes in this single picture! If your parents were Russian spies who sought to infiltrate Western society using bad intelligen, this is how they would dress their kids.
Me in the ubiquitous Canadian parka.
My most horrified injury happened during 4th grade gym class when the trampoline we were setting up swung back, snapping my arm in two places. I wore a cast for two months. Then x-rays revealed the hospital had set the bone wrong so I had to go back in so that they could re-break it. How, pray tell, does a medical professional re-break an arm? Simple? Some big guys just applies pressure until it fractures. And no, I didn’t receive any painkillers.
Clearly wary about the possibility that this photo would pop up online decades later.
Pictured here with my bouffant hairdo standing alongside my sister and our poodle, Snoopy. Because, at that age, everyone called their dog Snoopy regardless of breed.