Lafayette, California is a small suburb town east of San Francisco where I grew up. My parents still live in the house I was brought home to from the hospital, and I still have the same bedroom since I was a child. This place and I have history; some good, some bad and some ugly. So no trip of California would be complete without a stop over here for at least one night.
We arrived to an empty house (the parents were out socializing) and, with a few hours to kill before dinner, I thought it would be fun and only right to share some of my childhood photos with Martin. He, it should be noted, was more than willing to indulge my curiosity when I went to his house in Germany…Unfortunately, my trek down memory lane (via the scrapbooks so carefully and lovingly put together by my mom) turned into a bitter spiral of disappointment including lost potential and ambition (voted most likely to be a millionaire and president, with goals of becoming the first female astronaut on mars and/or the moon), lost athleticism (highlighted by the yearly team photos of swim team, softball, soccer, gymnastics, etc) and a reminder of my not-so-cute years (approximately 4-19 years of age). The photos alone (me with bad teeth, bad clothes, big hair and bigger eyebrows) prompted involuntary cringes equal to an 8 minute abs work out. I eventually had to skip over the book that covered my life from 12-15 years old for fear of pulling a muscle. I am hoping that, like fine wine and stinky cheese, I am only getting better with age.
Thankfully, Martin is a gentleman, and polite enough to not kick someone while they are down. He only slightly giggled at the worst photos and has not brought it up again since his departure. Note to self: preview all photos and scrap books before sharing. It took an afternoon walking around town, dinner with the parents and a walk around the reservoir the following morning to bring me out of my funk. Martin was leaving on Saturday and we only had one night left together…there was no time for sulking.
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