I look pretty silly in this picture. Sure, I was a kid about 11 and had little choice in style or dress, and on this occasion I can only presume I was being forced to go to church. But the lack of snow and the fact I’m wearing short sleeves makes me wonder if this wasn’t for another event, one that would better explain the look on my face.
My parents never were big on church. I remember going on Sundays for a while when we were in Silver Spring, but that didn’t last long. My dad enrolled me in a Lutheran school for a year or part of a year. That was okay for the most part. There was a chapel attached but to this day I don’t recall having to attend services in it. Certainly not like what was about to happen to me not long after this picture was taken. Our church going dwindled down to midnight service on Christmas eve, but even then I didn’t associate the toys and colorful lights and the Christmas tree with church. The two were do opposite.
I’m wearing a spiffy outfit, eh? But as I mentioned, there are some clues that tell me this wasn’t Easter. It’s certainly not Christmas, and I can’t think of any other occasion I’d be going to church save one. A fucking funeral.
There was a kid in my class who had such an infectious smile. He lived across the cul-de-sac from us, and me and my brother were okay friends with him and his brothers. We’d sometimes crank call pizza joints from there. All good fun. One night, his brother put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Funny thing – I didn’t cry until after it was all over, and it wasn’t because I was especially fond of the brother. I hardly knew him. But Brad’s face was broken, in so much pain, and I cried because I feared he’d never smile again.
Anyway, you might agree I look silly and even inappropriate if it is for a funeral, I know, but have you seen me in my Gloucester House uniform? Now that’s what I’d call silly!
And, come to think of it, maybe this isn’t the funeral outfit. As I recall, Mom took me, and she’d not be the one holding the camera – she’d be in the shot, I’m sure. And since she’s not, now I wonder if Dad is taking me to the airport to meet her coming back from somewhere. Then again, there was only one time I can recall being alone with Dad for any length of time, and that was when Mom and Roger went to Hawaii for a week, and that was in November. I’ll have to think on this some more.
