The Dusty Photo Album

I pick up the photo album, dusting it off. I don't often take time to look inside as you might probably see. I open it up. The old pictures preserved inside the plastic sleeves tell a story. The story of my life.

The very first photo shows myself as a baby in the arms of my mother. Those huge, thick glasses she wears are the epitome of the eighties. For her first child, she is slightly older than most moms. Late twenties I think. My dad wanted to name me Thomas Michael, after himself and his father before him. My mom, not wanting me to be a junior, would negotiate for a little switcharoo. Michael Thomas would be the name on my birth certificate. Not a junior.

I flip to the next photo and see me and my new baby brother. This time, I am doing the holding; but without thick glasses. He is much more pudgy than I was. All than extra weight is now long gone.

I see on the next page an image of my first day at school. I had no idea at the time how hideous the sweater I was wearing actually was. Than again, it was the early nineties, so probably no one did. They were all wearing one too.

I turn the pages to find a picture of me and my brother wrestling with my dad on his bed. I must have been “Twister”, and my brother, “Volcano.” The “Natural Disasters” are what we called ourselves. My dad wouldn't be wrestling with us for long, however. He and my mom would soon separate, making me the man of the house.

I then see a picture that makes my heart ache. Not for me, but for my mom. The Christmas after the split. She had returned to work as a housekeeper at a local motel. We shouldn't have even had a Christmas, but she had wanted so bad to give us something. Almost all of the toys were dollar store or yard sale quality gifts. Stuff you certainly couldn't go to school and brag about to your friends. But hard winter makes the spring smell that much sweeter. Looking back, that Christmas taught me a lot.

I then view a picture of my graduation from high school. And by the skin of my teeth no less. I wasn't very good in school. To much fun to be had I suppose. As most kids my age, I was short sighted.  Not interested in, or even aware of, the future. I took a few years off of school after that. “Joining the workforce” I think is what they said as I crossed the stage to shake the principal's hand.

There are few pictures in the album after that. Too busy I suppose. Funny how adults have their picture taken much more seldom than children. Not as cute maybe? Or maybe we are just too busy.

I put the photo album down, sliding it back into its spot on the bookshelf. Well, gotta get going.