A picture paints...
Photos of our long lost innocence may not be around for everyone, but I have been blessed with a shoe box on steroids containing all kinds of "lost" memories, as the pictures at the top display...
They paint a story of an obedient and good mannered child playing on the beach. Focusing on the collage we find at fist he only plays by his own with his model cars in the sand, then he joins his brother and sister, carefully watched over by their uncle in constructing a sand castle. And in the last photo we see him laying on the sand, lost to the world around in dreaming of his castle and cars. You can even imagine how he even lies there and makes the sounds of the cars while he plays...
The picture on the left we will use to explore the intricacies of perception and assumption. The boy with the car in is hand, standing in the wake of a wave is me. And I am standing there looking calm and posing for the photo, but on the inside of that calm facade I am furious!
I do NOT do beaches!!!
I do not do screaming races with the ebb and flow of the tide
and I definitely do not do model buggies
Especially those that are nothing but a colorful plastic shell and wheels
I am wet because I refused to run into the waves screaming tonsils like a rumpus child. My Mother (Bless her sole for trying) emptied our drinking water container over me to make it look as if I had been in the water.
I am carrying a plastic model car that my Mom borrowed from a noisy little snot nose just to the left of where we were perched on the beach front.
And so the story flows to the happy collage with me, sitting "wet" in the wet beach sand. I manage to look smug because I refused to put my sexy speedo bum on the wet sand, and my Mom compensated the pose to my current squat. The "fake" cars were carefully placed to snap a shot with good composition. And after my brother and sister had built a pitiful sandcastle, I was whisked in the range of photographic focus where yet another happy snap was immortalized.
After all that disturbing posing rigmarole I smashed some of the sandcastles and refused to move from the beach. I had of course carefully calculated the ebb and flow to know that where I make my last stand I would be high and dry. Mom thought it would still make a nice picture and arranged the stupid cars in front of my face.
If I had not been so stern in my resolve to maintain my high ground I would have picked up those ridiculous cars and threw them away. But I got the last victory...
I refused to smile, even with promise of ice-cream, chips and sweets.
They paint a story of an obedient and good mannered child playing on the beach. Focusing on the collage we find at fist he only plays by his own with his model cars in the sand, then he joins his brother and sister, carefully watched over by their uncle in constructing a sand castle. And in the last photo we see him laying on the sand, lost to the world around in dreaming of his castle and cars. You can even imagine how he even lies there and makes the sounds of the cars while he plays...
The picture on the left we will use to explore the intricacies of perception and assumption. The boy with the car in is hand, standing in the wake of a wave is me. And I am standing there looking calm and posing for the photo, but on the inside of that calm facade I am furious!
I do NOT do beaches!!!
I do not do screaming races with the ebb and flow of the tide
and I definitely do not do model buggies
Especially those that are nothing but a colorful plastic shell and wheels
I am wet because I refused to run into the waves screaming tonsils like a rumpus child. My Mother (Bless her sole for trying) emptied our drinking water container over me to make it look as if I had been in the water.
I am carrying a plastic model car that my Mom borrowed from a noisy little snot nose just to the left of where we were perched on the beach front.
And so the story flows to the happy collage with me, sitting "wet" in the wet beach sand. I manage to look smug because I refused to put my sexy speedo bum on the wet sand, and my Mom compensated the pose to my current squat. The "fake" cars were carefully placed to snap a shot with good composition. And after my brother and sister had built a pitiful sandcastle, I was whisked in the range of photographic focus where yet another happy snap was immortalized.
After all that disturbing posing rigmarole I smashed some of the sandcastles and refused to move from the beach. I had of course carefully calculated the ebb and flow to know that where I make my last stand I would be high and dry. Mom thought it would still make a nice picture and arranged the stupid cars in front of my face.
If I had not been so stern in my resolve to maintain my high ground I would have picked up those ridiculous cars and threw them away. But I got the last victory...
I refused to smile, even with promise of ice-cream, chips and sweets.
Comments