To grandmother's house we go...

Another Polaroid. Somewhere in Arlington. Sometime in the 60's.

This picture says a lot about my sisters. And unfortunately me.

This was my paternal grandparents home in Arlington. Grandfather had retired from the Army as a Sergeant Major and was working as a civilian for the federal government. Grandmother forever influenced my politics by telling me Republicans were evil and the only hope for our country was to keep the Democrats in office. I still believe her.

My father took this picture and it may have been his last visit with his parents before leaving for Vietnam. My sisters were very close growing up. They still are. My little sister is deaf. No one is really sure when or how it happened. We know it was shortly after she was born but it took years before we knew she was deaf. We knew there was something wrong. We didn't know what. I look back at this time and remember confusion and a not too sympathetic or helpful Army. And that pretty much defines my role. Too selfish to care and too lazy to make an effort. My main concern was getting my hair to part to the right.

I treasure the memories of these visits to Arlington. It seemed normal.

Army Brat Vacation

A Polaroid. Somewhere in Mexico. Sometime in the 60's.

It appears I already know the position of Parade Rest and my sister knows Attention. My other sister declines to pose due to an interest in the goat. I loved going to Mexico as a kid. The food, the people, the candy. Man, it was like a dream. We never vacationed much as a family. That was usually saved for a transfer. If we moved from Ft Sill to Ft Bragg - - that was the vacation.

There was one vacation not associated with a move. Six Flags over Georgia. My father was miserable. Rides, crowds, lines, screaming kids... leaving the, "No Sticker!" note on the car... He called it, "chicken shit." --I'm amazed he did it.

The Bus Station

John Vachon's Bus depot, Washington D.C. 1951

This image never fails to stop in me in my tracks. Whatever petty thoughts I'm having run for the hills to make room in my brain and my heart for this couple. I know exactly what they're thinking. And I would love to know what happened to them because I feel like I know them. I guess in a way I do.

Movin' on...

I live under a moving cloud. Never in my adult life have I ever thought I would be one place for long. There's always the knowledge - - not an idea or clue or anything else - - but the concrete knowledge I will be moving on. I'm never sure when or how or why. But I do know it'll happen. Pretty much the only constant in my life since I was 18 has been USAA.

I used to know them...

The other home

Like many brats -- when it was time to settle down it was time to find someone who was settled. A good looking crowd they are. All my ex-wife's family. Third generation natives of Chicago's North Shore. The photographer announced the wife's family picture and as my new Irish Catholic relations came from every direction one guest laughed, "When does Rose Kennedy come rolling out in her wheel chair?" I thought it was hysterical. Maybe you had to be there.

I didn't think of looking for a family to go with my wife. That wasn't my intent. With hindsight it's easy to see I embraced my new wife's family and home and became a Chicagoan in short order. Much like moving in the Army - - I quickly absorbed everything in my surroundings.

I was married for 13 years to my wife and to these people. I loved them very much but after the divorce, except for four people in this picture, I never saw or heard from them again. In all fairness to them -- I never reached out. I wasn't sure how. They may feel the same way about me.

A couple of friends are going through a divorce and I always think of how sad it is to not only lose your spouse but their family as well. I lost so many friends in the Army after knowing them for a year or two. It's inconceivable to me to lose people you know for 13 years. When asked recently if I knew someone in this picture - - I said, "I used to." What an odd thing to say and yet it's the consistent theme of my life.

The Living Room

Home

My parents in the living room. I was discovering photography and this was taken by me. Some time in the 70's, somewhere in Colorado, sometime after 5PM. I remember this moment because it was repeated through most of my childhood. The old man came home, grabbed a beer and met my mother in the living room. My mother sipped a Coke and dad sipped his beer and they talked and smoked and caught up on the day that just happened.

New orders? Maybe. A promotion? Hopefully. Time out alone. Gratefully.

Cockiness

My father inscribed the photo with the comments you see. I'm pretty sure this is how he sees life. I know I see it that way.

Look at him. That's what I call cocky. This is Korea in 1960. My father was a young lieutenant in the Air Defense Artillery branch. That must have been cooler than cool in 1960. Screwing around with missiles...cutting edge stuff I imagine. Sure to give a man a sense of confidence. I am the shit.

Unfortunately, I inherited a lot of his confidence. Like anyone with lots of confidence it comes from a poor self image. Cocky people always feel like they're a screw up. They just don't want anyone finding out. That's why they're cocky. It's pretty simple.

Moving around a lot I discovered that most teachers don't like cocky kids. Especially those who show up in the dead of winter with a peeling burn from Texas. If you're different and you're cocky - - you're gonna catch some hell. I worked for a colonel in the army who said, " I'm so confused I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass." I know that has nothing to do this - - but he also told me, "You're a smart ass. It's in your walk. It's in your talk. You can't help it. Me? I like confidence. But most people don't. Remember that."

So there I am. Standing at that bar. A piece of me at least. A scared little boy puffing his chest out so the big fish don't eat him.