Hungover and disheveled, I finally reached my parent's house in New Paltz four days into my trip. Since no one was home I took advantage of the opportunity to embark on a solo mission to rummage through and retrieve the items I'd listed on my flight in from Austin. I tossed my bags into what was once my bedroom but now resembled more of a second closet for my mother's growing collection of junk.

I squeezed myself between stacks of boxes and an old bookshelf in the corner, spilling the bottom shelf's photo albums out into a pile in front of me. Looking at our old family photos I felt dumbfounded. My parents were 24 yrs old when I was born, a year younger than I am now. I've always known this, but this was the first time I'd looked at these images in awhile and it just struck me differently. As I thumbed through the pages, piling my favorites next to me, I once again drifted inward.

While these pictures provide tangible memories of my childhood and hilarious proof of our collective victimization to the generally ridiculous concept of style prevalent through the 1980's and 90's (perms, shoulder pads, acid wash jeans, asymmetrical designs, etc.), I couldn't help but feel overcome with gratitude. My parents really stepped up to the responsibility of raising me despite their age and inexperience. I can't say I would do that right now, which is a humbling realization.

Satisfied with my stack of memories (and excited about the percentage of which were in Polaroid), I found a shoebox to temporarily store away my treasure. I pushed the photo albums back into their haphazard format in the family room just as my father arrived home. My mother was away for business in Boston, which allowed my father and I some necessary quality time, something we barely know how to manage. This time was different though. I could tell that my decision to move so far away had had its effect on him, making our reunion overwhelmingly honest and heartfelt, a beautiful accomplishment in our fragile relationship.


Other retrieved childhood memorabilia:

Star projector thingy
High school yearbook(s)
Photos / albums
The Bear – William Faulkner
Travels with Charlie – John Steinbeck
Grand Royal Magazine collection

I think it's necessary for me to elaborate on just how bad ass the Bushnell Star Machine really is, especially given that I received it as a gift from my uncle so long ago I can't recall. I mean, the guy on the box even has a serious Keith Hernandez moustache. This shit is for real.




Also, true to form the Beastie Boys' Grand Royal Magazine IS just as relevant in 2007 as it was in 1995. Radical.