towheaded zen kid

[spatch]

Kid pictures this time. There's a lot of them. If you don't go beyond the cut, at least check this out:


They came to my nursery school one December and asked us if we knew what holidays were coming up. I replied with a few Zen comments. (My birthday is roughly a month after Christmas; whether I melded them together or the newspaper person took liberty with the context, I don't know.)

(Click any picture for a larger version.)

The following photoessay is entitled TOWHEADED SPATCH: A LOOK BACK IN SHORTPANTS

Most of these pictures were taken by my dad, a professional photographer as well as minister (and also EMT/firefighter. He wears a lot of hats.)



While I was never called Beveragebaby, I certainly could tell how my fondness for drinks started early on, even if I was prone to complaint now and then ("What do you mean, there's no half-and-half?!")


I was not a restless soul, but when the mood struck or the sermon ran too long, I'd often just up and find a change of scenery.


Ah, the advantages of being a Preacher's Kid. You walked tall like you owned the place.


The best fun was often the fun that resulted in the most entropy.


I was kind to animals. Our cat Ms. (it was the 70s, c'mon) was an early friend.


As was Boo-Boo, the blind cat.


Feeding ducks was also fun, though it took a while for me to realize ducks didn't like being hit with the bread first.


My loyalties were established at an early age.


I was not internationally known, but I was known to rock the microphone.


I ran around a lot.


And I climbed rocks a lot. Sometimes Dad would climb with me, too.


I was a born adventurer and natural leader...


...and I fed my followers well.


Running and climbing were all well and good, but I think I preferred this better.


Sometimes I suffered indignities for my art...


...but I managed to survive and look contemplative for another day.


All in all, though, I think I did just fine.

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