My Former Self Read Free

it’s ten to, now.”Then he notices Jack. “Hey, Jack. Do you want to drive with us or meet us there?”
    “I’ll meet you at the park. I have a few errands to run afterwards. I brought my cooler and filled it with water and colas for the kids—it’s pretty hot out today. See you there.”
    “Thanks. Kids, let’s go!” Dad rarely gets mad at us, but he doesn’t have much patience for tardiness. He once told us that people who are late are egotistical—they think they are worth waiting for. That has always stuck with me, and I try not to make anyone wait for me.
    “I’m ready, Dad. Sandy,” I call to my younger sister, “come on!” Sandra is eleven and in sixth grade. She’s a funny girl and makes us all laugh. Sometimes she gets in trouble at school because she makes the entire class laugh. One of her teachers, Mr. Keddy, called home a few times, saying that she needs to take science more seriously. He said that when he’s trying to teach important concepts, she makes jokes and is clearly not paying attention. My parents talk to her and tell her that class is not the appropriate place to make jokes, with which she agrees. It lasts for a week or two, and then there is a poor test result sent home to sign or another phone call.
    “’Kay, I’m done. Look at me!” Sandy has obviously had fun with Mom’s makeup.
    “Sandra! What on earth have you done to your face?” Dad is trying not to laugh. He probably would have if he weren’t feeling rushed for time. “Go wash your face quickly and get back here!”
    So, by 10:55, we leave to go get our family portrait done. I can see that my dad doesn’t really want to talk on the way. He knows we’re going to be about five minutes late, and it is visibly upsetting him. My mom touches his back and says, “It’s okay, Bob, Jack’s there. He’ll tell him where to set up everything.”
    Mom is right; when we get to the park, Jack is there talking to the photographer about lawn mowers. The one thing I can say about Jack: he can talk. To anybody. About anything. I have actually always admired his ability to converse with complete strangers. Within minutes, it seems like they’re old friends. You would think he’d have more people to hang out with, but no, he’s usually always with us. Today I am somewhat relieved, however, because otherwise my father would be quiet and bothered, which is how he gets when something has set him off.
    The photographer is a middle-aged man who wears his pants way too high, in my opinion. My sister and I giggle about this for a little while until Mom gives her stern don’t-you-dare-make-me-talk-to-you-here look. So we wait patiently until we are positioned for our picture. Dad and Mom are at the back with Jack, and mybrother is beside Jack. My sister and I are in the front. We put on our fake smiles for what feels like an eternity. I am hot and in a dress that my mom insisted I wear—definitely not my choice. I would have been perfectly fine in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I keep reminding myself that I am doing this for my parents.
    Finally, close to one, the photographer says he thinks he has some really good shots, and we’re done. Mom suggests we all go out for lunch, sort of as a celebration, although I have no idea what we are celebrating: Jeremy passing all of his courses at university, Uncle Jack finally running the 5k without stopping, my sister making it to junior high, Dad fixing the washing machine last weekend? I have no clue, but we all know that if my mom suggests it, it is more of a demand. Telling her that I’d rather be with my friends would not go over well. I’ll have to bite my tongue and feign happiness for a few more hours.

Fall 2010
    B y the time I get to the coffee shop, the line is out the door. Luckily the rain has subsided, and it’s not too cool outside. I wait patiently for my turn, but I find that the smell of the coffee, my earlier-than-normal wakeup time, and the slow baristas are making