The Sunday Memory Drawer - Happy Easter From My Dad's Technicolor Camera

Some of these photos have run here on a previous Easter Sunday, but they are worth repeating.

These harken back to days of my youth when my father became an amateur photographer.   He had gotten himself an Argus camera.  Top of the line at the time.  And everything he shot was in Technicolor.

Out the camera would come at every family function for about three or four years.  Christmas.  Summer barbecues.  New Year's Eve parties.   Or simply my grandmother's garden in the photo that adorns the top of today's post.

And Easter.  

Of course, my mother could not resist these photo opportunities.  She dressed to the nines.  And, even worse, she dressed me to the nines.  Or, really the fives.  For some bizarre reason, she had this need to dress me like an adult.  Even though I was barely five years ago.

This is precisely why, for a year or two in their teen years, all kids hate their parents.

On this particular Easter several centuries ago, I can try and piece together the day's events.

If I remember correctly, my aunt and uncle belonged to some beach club on City Island.  The French Riviera of the smelly Bronx.  We trooped down there to pose underneath a dingy and dark sky.  Hardly the wonderful embodiment of the Easter celebration.   And, from Dad's photos, nobody looks like they wanted to be there.

Yes, gang, that's my mother and me.  Or a very, very young Bing Crosby.  For Pete's sake, are you freakin' kidding me?  White shoes on me?  It's not even Memorial Day.  A major fashion faux pas that might have scarred me all the way to the tenth grade.

My older cousin Gini also suffers the indignity of posing with me in this outfit.  Looking like Nathan Detroit in an all-dwarf production of "Guys and Dolls."  Meanwhile, Gini's not coming off much better.  Is that the lower tier of a wedding cake on her head?  I love the boats moored at this country club.  I will note at this time that my family didn't even remotely own a boat.

Dad is now trying to get into some stylistic poses with yours truly.  Either that or he's trying to emulate the work of director David Lynch.  This just screams "Twin Peaks."  You'll notice there is a scowl on my face.  Can you blame me?

I look like an old Jew on the Grand Concourse, waiting for the bus to take me to dialysis.  The hat has to go.  The checkered sports jacket has to go.  My self esteem?  Already gone.

Once again, my family poses in front of more boats that we did not own.  My aunt, my uncle, my cousin Gini, and my mother smile and wave at the camera.  At this point, I can only guess that I am hiding on the floor of the back seat of my father's Buick.

Yes, folks, it's Easter when we celebrate that Jesus Christ has risen.  But, why, oh, why, am I the one being crucified?? 

Dinner last night:  Kung pao beef from First Szechwan Wok.