The Sunday Memory Drawer Redux - Easter Outfits

Jesus Christ is risen today.  Hallelujah!! 

Good enough of an excuse for me to dip into the archives for a rerun.  Once again, I rationalize that there are so many recent additions to the readership roster that the following is new material to them. 

Remember when I wrote....

Thank God I've outgrown this nonsense. Indeed, Easter has become for me the lost holiday. I'll go to church, for sure. But, after that, I usually head home, switch to my play clothes, and watch a baseball game. If you're not exchanging gifts, what the hell is the point?

I didn't have the luxury when I was a kid. Because this was the annual family photo op day. The women in my family decked out in their finest. And me winding up in some ridiculous get-up that no self-assured five-year-old should ever endure. For instance...

This is the Easter picture during my Bing Crosby period. I don't look happy in this photo. Would you? I look like some old Jewish ex-vaudevillean waiting for a bus on the Grand Concourse. Or one of those Jerry Mahoney dummies. With emphasis on the word "dummy." This is why all children, at some point in time, hate their parents.

To make matters worse, my father was going through his creative period in playing with his prized Argus Technicolor camera.

"Lenny, go stand by that tree and pretend you're looking for something."

Like what? My dignity. That's AWOL.

 As I look at these photos all over again, I can feel the shirt tightening around my neck one more time. As if I'm being choked by that fucking bowtie. Now, I know why they didn't flinch when I told them I wanted to live at a college that was less than 10 miles from my house. They knew that these pictures existed and there was a price that needed to be paid.
At least, the three of us are captured for posterity in this one. Knowing my mother's fashion sense, I have no idea why she's wearing a red dress that clearly clashes with my red sport jacket.

A RED SPORT JACKET! With something in the pocket that might be a handkerchief. What the hell is going on in my life at this juncture??? And, from the twisted expression on my face, I'm pondering that very question at this exact moment. Either that or perhaps I'm the youngest person to ever endure a stroke.

In retrospect, I realize that my dad wore a suit rarely. On Easter or whenever somebody wound up being "stretched out" down at Suchy's Funeral Parlor in the Bronx. From what I see here, he wore the fancier outfits well. I doubt Mom wore this dress to any wakes. On second thought, she might have. It all depends on who it was.

Happy Easter. Time to put on the sweats.  And drag out your old photos.

Dinner last night:  BLT sandwich at Blue Plate Diner.