Great-Aunt Verna and Hilary

Brockton, Massachusetts

1982

Boy, do I look like my dad in this picture!  My grandfather’s sister, Verna, is trying to keep my on her lap, but clearly I’ve got some other ideas. This may have been the first time that she and I ever met.  It’s funny to me how parents (myself included) insist that their children say “Hi” to grown-ups they’ve never seen before.  We practically beg their kids to let themselves be hugged and kissed by grown-ups they hardly know.  Then in a few years, we parents turn around and demand that our kids not talk to strangers! 

I know that we’re at my grandparents house because they had those crushed velvet arm chairs for-ev-er.  I remember scratching my name in the velvet and then running my hand over it to smooth it back out before my grandmother saw me.  Of my two grandmothers, my father’s mother (owner of the crushed velvet chairs) was super strict.  I used to dread going to her house. My mom left me in her care one afternoon and I cried, cried, cried. Gram was having none of it, told me as much and promptly escorted me to the bathroom where I was to remain until I finished crying.  Evidently, I spent the better part of the afternoon in there.  The legend goes, when she opened the door to ask me if I was finished, I gave her a sharp, “No!” Then I pushed the door closed in her face.  Love you, Gram!

 I have a feeling if I were to cut my hair today, my ‘fro would be as tiny and as tight as it is in this picture.  Afro-tastic! My shirt is classic late 70’s/early 80’s.  Red ringer collar and sleeves, the psychedelic bubble letters warning the masses, “Here Comes Trouble”, I was fashion forward. Now, to find that shirt for the girls.