Once upon a time, I liked to inscribe my name on things. Big things. Small things. Mostly non-living, wooden things. Window panes. Bed frames. Cabinet drawers. Gliders. If there was a pen or marker in my hand, my name was never far away. I wrote about my early scribbling adventures here.
During my last trip home, I was shown yet another place where I left my mark: the concrete foundation under the air-conditioning unit that was recently removed. This work of art was different. This time, I left a self-portrait. See photo.
I’m going to step out on a limb and guess that I had recently had a perm. Or, perhaps, my super-fine, blonde hairs were yet again stuck to my scalp, and I was attempting to give myself some volume. Hard to say. But, the name definitely gives it away. And, the big head.
My blessed parents. Still uncovering my marks all these years later.