Look at that serious little face; me at 19 months, Ron, age 5. I've always had a dour countenance. Mom used to tell me to "quit frowning". I would say "I wasn't frowning, I was thinking". Dad would tell me "You think too much".
Slightly younger in this photo with Dad, Ron and Fritz? And slightly less than serious; more like unhappy. Maybe I wanted Dad to hold me instead of Ron. Or maybe I just didn't want my picture taken. Note the ivy on the house. I can remember still trying to root it all out years later.
Here's one of Ronald at five and a half months. He had a much happier disposition. Mom, too, was happy. Even the dog was smiling.
Here I am around three years old; still serious. Little cousin Frank was smiling. Ron was smirking; punching his buddy? I don't know what our neighbor, Norman, was showing off; a pen?, but he was happy, too.
I had a permanent vertical frown line in the middle of my forehead by the time I was ten.
Is there anything wrong with being serious?
No comments:
Post a Comment