26. A photo of you at Christmastime. 12/24/1979. An unhealthy addiction to video games is born.
34 Christmastimes have produced a bunch of choice pictures. I debated sharing one of the photos from my awkward years – long hair, baseball hat, bad skin, ugly sweater, stone washed jeans, high tops, etc. – but I have a particular love for this photo. We’re in Pittsburgh at Grandmommy and Granddaddy’s (Mom’s parents’) house. Dad and I are playing my brand new handheld baseball video game (well, it was all LEDs and beeping noises, but still) on Christmas Eve. I am wearing my brand new “Mork” suspenders. I dig the closeness, the father-son nature of this picture. Not pictured is a bigger family bond — my Jewish-raised-then-Unitarian-living father celebrating (in a secular manner) Christmas with his wife and kids and his wife’s parents. The year before is even more interesting: Grandma and Grandpa (Dad’s parents) also joined us there. 2 Jews, 2 Presbys and 4 Unitarians, all getting together and hanging out.
Well, it’s just kinda cool.
Word count: 42,302 (84.6%)
Here is the brand new beginning of the novel, required to round out what will eventually become the end of the story.
The cicadas are here, hovering about my head, mating on the wing, getting ready to die. I am too, I suppose. Getting ready to die, that is. I wish I could say I had a good run at it, but that just wouldn’t be true. It would be nothing more than a comforting lie, an attempt to placate myself at the very end. It would serve no other purpose but to make these last few weeks, or days, or minutes — there’s no telling how much longer there is — more bearable.