Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Eight of Nine.

 A few days ago, I was at my parents house
 and came across this photo of me in 1987. 
My Mom would pile us kids in the suburban and drive to the lake
where we would feed the ducks old bread.  This is a favorite childhood memory.
I can still smell the air at the lake- even as I type this. 
This photo was taken in early Spring, and it was still a little
chilly out, but I remember the sun was warm on the top of my brown hair.
The photo reminded me of this snippet in my book:

"Growing up as number eight of nine meant I was never alone, 
and the greatest gift of those five brothers and three sisters
 was how safe I felt, always. 
 I always had someone to talk to, play with, or borrow clothes from.  
They were devoted brothers and sisters--my best friends, 
greatest role models and fiercest protectors."

I look at this photo and can't help but smile. 
I was happy, safe, content, and surrounded by love and siblings.
I also had a sweet yellow Mickey Mouse sweatshirt on
and my sister Courtney's Keds on my feet.