Friday, December 7, 2012

A Quarter Century: I Am Totes Adorbs!

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Normally I'm not one for heavy-handed sentimentality, but in my quest for an adequate photograph of the annual Wood Family Thanksgiving shenanigans I unwittingly came across a slew (a SLEW, I say!) of pictures from my newborn-toddler era.

I thought to myself, "Self, you should save some of these in case they fit into a future ACQ post." To which my self replied "But Self, your 26th birthday is only a few weeks away. How many of these posts do you really have left?"

My Self found this realization both unsettling and terrifying, since I immediately began thinking of how little I had accomplished in the last year and how I would soon -- yet again -- be celebrating another "milestone" on the pathway to death. Seriously, who's bright idea was it to celebrate birthdays?

So, faced with the cruel, never-ceasing demon we call time I figured a post dedicated to the earliest period in my life would be an appropriate segment for this little melancholy-project I've been working on all year. And Here. We. Go.

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As I've likely mentioned before, I am the youngest of 5 children. These pictures are handy in that a) it documents some quality time between me and each of my siblings and b) they look rediculous in them. But, you will remember, it was the late-80s, so you have to cut all of us some slack.

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I've been told -- you'll forgive me forgetting -- that I loved being hoisted around in this carrier. We've always been a hiking family so in our many tomes of family photographs there's a bevy of pictures of me being carried in Yellowstone, me being carried in Zion's, me being carried in Moab and me being carried in other places I don't immediately recognized. Logic tells me that at some point I outgrew the backpack -- since no one offers to carry me any more -- which really is an unfortunate thing.

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It's odd looking through these because I honestly don't see myself in these faces until I'm roughly age 3. I mean, common sense dictates that this child is me. The photograph is labeled clearly, my siblings are clearly too old for the time period and unless there's some dark secret involving a 6th child that my family has somehow kept from me all this time, that's me.

I wish someone had told me to avoid horizontal stripes. Between that and the camera I've got an extra 15 pounds in this picture.

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It occurs to me as I write how ironically pseudo-typical this blog post is. I always make fun of my friends and family who just post these long pointless photo-essays about how adorable their children are. I suppose this isn't any different, except it's moi, which makes it automatically awesome.

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Besides look at that cat: one hand on the wheel, seat back, cruisin for chicks. Kidz got style.
Also, I realize that Red Flyers are essentially cold plastic death, but I still feel they're a crucial part of any child's upbringing. Much like trampolines, and chicken pox (all these liberals and their so-called "vaccines." A real american scratches and is proud of it).

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More awkward 80s children, this time with the addition of a few cousins. I love the girls' hair, especially Leah's.

I often say that I have no memory of my brother's existence before I turned 12. It's true, for the most part, but to his credit at least we have photographic proof that he did, on occasion, occupy the same space as me before he became a teenager and got weird. Besides, it could be worse. My only memories of my sister Katie before I turned 12 is her beating the crap out of me.

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There, at this point I can admit that kid looks like me. It is somewhat surreal, though, to realize I look more like the figure on the right than the left at this point. Then again, my dad is 60 year's old and runs a sub-2 half marathon. Sure I snore, required braces and max out at about 5'10'' and change, but I suppose the genetic lottery could've been worse.

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This photo is a Wood Family classic. There's a corresponding shot of me taken a few minutes before, only having attempted to dress myself and do my own hair. Kid looks good. There really is no such thing as over-dressed.

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I tried to find a picture of me and my mother, but there really weren't many during this time period. She was, as you can probably guess, the person behind the camera. My oldest sister Mandie on the other hand -- with whom I share an age difference of 11 years -- by all indications is just completely M.I.A. I can't really blame her. Had I been a teenager when these photos were taken I too would probably have had more interesting things to do than make an awkward Kodak moment out of a family totem pole.

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We used to make boats out of zuchini and race them down the creek at my grandparent's house. I look like I'm about to cry in this picture. I would imagine it's because I'm totally jealous of Tony's awesome sail boat. Genius!

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I'll end on this one. There's something triumphant about it. Such joy! Such revelry! If you grew up before iPhones then you know that nothing could ever beat finding a good stick!

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