As I was composing a post-that-didn’t-happen for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop yesterday, I came across these photos.
When I was three, I was the mascot for my late sister, Rose’s, high school graduating class.
Although I’m sure my family considered this an honor, It’s easy to see that I was not happy about having my picture taken for the event .
And in this shot, you can actually see tears in my eyes. (And, gosh, don’t I just look evil?)
(For good reason, the first picture in this post is the one that was chosen for the yearbook.)
One of my earliest memories is that of being called a “cry-baby”. Apparently, I was a fussy infant, and that began a trend. Once I started school and had to leave my mom, my crying career really took off. That caused the other children on the bus to begin teasing me, which just gave me more reason to cry.
Thankfully, I finally grew up, the tears didn’t come so easily, and I realized that crying didn’t solve anything. Too bad it took so long for that to happen.
~These Days Of Mine~