Here is a shot of our family on a ski trip we took to Red River, NM in, I think, 1975. You can see I am wearing the cool hand-tooled leather visor that I later left in Gary Gober's car when I went in the Army. I believe that I wore that hat almost daily when I was a High School Senior.... but maybe not.
I actually turn up wearing the hat my mom has on, two or three years later in Moonpie. There is a shot where I am throwing a rock off a hill uop at UTK, and one where I have my Buck knife clenched firmly in my teeth.
And, you know, the whole thing -- with my dad dying and all -- is like... On the one hand I'm so angry at the universe for all the shit I've been going through over the past year or so. And then I think about something like this. How odd that I made the trip back to Red River this year. A place I was with my family, and later my friends. How fortuitous that we held a party on the evening of the 3rd to get together, ten hours before my dad died. It was like a going away party for him. I remember that I had not even wanted to celebrate the damn birthday to begin with (it's actually today -- how's that for sucky?) but just because it felt like celebrating wasn't the right word for it.