unfortunately, the only person in my family who will comply with this desire is my sweet father. so for the past few days we've sat down with the raggedy photo albums from what seems like forever ago and gaze at me in tiny form. sometimes, when i look at these pictures i like, really freak out. is that really me? in an alien body? it's so weird.
but my favorite part about this, is that after we have gone through the book a few times, and my dad has gotten over the sheer shock of how delightfully precious i was, he begins to only focus on the the clothes that he is wearing in the photographs, and that he misses them. the conversations begin to go a little something like this:
me: 'oh, look at my little smile! it's like i don't know what's going on!'
dad: 'oh! my chicago bears shirt!!!'
me: 'oh and there i am, wait... where is that at?'
dad: 'awwww man... there's my oakland A's hat.... i've got that somewhere'.
me: ' and there's sam! i wish i could remember knowing him'
dad: 'i loved that saints t-shirt'.
life is precious.