While in Arizona last month my grandma scanned a few of her pictures for me:
There's little bro with dad and me. That wrinkled forehead tells me he's thinking away on something important. Maybe the formula for world peace.
See that woven couch we're sitting on? When I was little I loved to take my safety scissors and cut threads and pull them out of the woven pattern. It did not occur to me that I was vandalizing property. It was just something fun to do! Right along with the scratches little bro and I put on the hood of car using metal poles (I have no idea what they were from) to scrape off the ice one winter...we just knew we were being the most helpful children ever.
Brother's face here says, "Oh god, grandma...why are you standing there taking pictures? This maniac you left me alone with put a bow on my head. Save me...please...for the love of all that is good". Circumstantial evidence points to me planting the bow, but that bow looks way too perfect to have been made by a 6-year-old...could there have been Mom-involvement here?
"Mom, I know I'm just a fat little baby boy and I can't talk yet, but please tell me you see the desperation in my eyes. She's making me look at her jewelry!! I should not be subjected to this torture just because I can't walk away." You can see just to the left of my arm a section of upholstery that had an encounter with me and my safety scissors.
And here he is some 21 years later, graduating college. So proud of you bro!
I am very blessed that we are close. I guess he forgave me for the hair bows and the jewelry and that time I dressed him up in my dance class outfit...he was just the prettiest little 3-year-old in that ruffly skirt, I couldn't resist. :D