As I may, or may not, have mentioned, my grandma will be turning 90 next month. Such an auspicious occasion is deserved of a grand celebration, and the family is pulling out all the stops to make sure the festivities are top notch. One of the important duties assigned to my little branch of the clan is compiling a photographic retrospective of my grandma’s life. This has been no small undertaking. In fact, it’s been quite overwhelming and even frustrating at times. Do you have any idea how many pictures one acquires over a period of 90 years? I can’t give you an exact number, but it’s somewhere between a million and infinity, roughly. I kid you not. And, of course, just when you think you’ve finally got a handle on the photo situation, more pictures appear out of nowhere. Better pictures. Pictures you had better include in the slide show or tempt the ire of an angry senior citizen, or two.
You’d think that being older, one might forget certain pictures ever even existed. Heck, I’m less than half my grandma’s age and I can barely remember pictures taken of me from only a few years ago. But Grandmas have special power to be able to recall any photo from any time taken anywhere at a moment’s notice. “Do you remember the one I took of you and your cousins at Thanksgiving in the house on Tweety Lane where you’re all wearing Indian* headdresses?” Um, no? Really whether or not I remember is a moot point. I’d better find it or there will be hell to pay. Even if I can’t, I’d better find a similar picture and photoshop some headdresses on us tout suite. Just because the photo doesn’t exist is not an acceptable excuse. Honestly.
All in all, the project has been surprisingly fun and informative. I learned things about my family I didn’t know. I discovered a fantastic site called Picink.com that makes restoring old photos a snap (no pun intended). And, perhaps the best unforeseen benefit, are the hundreds of photographs I found of me. Yeah, it’s all well and good to make Grandma happy, but to uncover the mother lode of adorably cute photos of me is like the cherry on top. However, being that I am a child of the 1970s, the fashions I chose to embrace were, how shall I put it, less than desirable. Often, it appears I’d been allowed to dress myself, but still, other times it’s obvious that my mother had a hand in choosing my clothes for the day. So, without further ado, I present some of the best and brightest highlights of my childhood as demonstrated by my keen fashion sense. Enjoy.
*I would correct her to use the proper nomenclature, but it wouldn’t stop he from calling Native Americans “Indians.” You should hear the term she used for the Brazil Nut. I can’t even bring myself to type the words, much less hint to what they were. Just terrible.
Sunglasses, someone else's gloves, my Bruins shirt tucked into those PANTS, red socks and tap shoes. No, it really doesn't get any better than this outfit.
The Devil definitely made me wear this fetching ensemble, that's for sure.
Okay, so the fruit jumper isn't so bad, but the SHOES! Oh, dear god...who dressed me?
Who needs pants when you have a t-shirt that hangs down to your knees?
I can't believe my mother made me wear an Oompa Loompa shirt. I should not be smiling.
This photo marks the beginning of my "Cape" phase. No outfit is complete without a poncho or a makeshift cape, usually a blanket.
The Little Red Riding Hood poncho/cape combo. I am STOKED.
As you can see, at one point I actually became my own superhero. Why there's an "R" on my shirt and not a "K" is a mystery.
Even while playing in my room, a cape was necessary. One never knows when it may come in handy. Better to be prepared at all times.
When I was old enough, I acquired my own superhero transportation replete with handlebar streamers. And, of course, a cape.
My one and only foray into dance. Shortly after the performance, I hung up my tap shoes for good. I blame the costume.
Oh, these socks are crackin' me up.
Wanna know what's in the Thermos? WINE. And we never went to the beach without it.
Ah, the "Little House on the Prairie" phase. This was, however, very short lived. I realized almost immediately that I preferred a cape to an apron. Really, who doesn't?
"Little House" Redux: I 86'd that apron as soon as possible. No wonder I don't cook.
My mom sewed these matching apron dresses for me and my best friend Sally in a last ditch effort to get us to embrace the look. She failed miserably.
The Topless Years.
Topless tanning.
Tan much? Well, at least I bothered to put a top on.
Words cannot express how stoked I was to get these jeans. Hearts on the pockets and tucked into my knee-high boots. Love it.
I'm not sad because I was wearing a burgundy velour top. I'm not sad because I am wearing some really butt ugly brown shoes and white socks. I'm sad because the totally radical rainbow vest I'm wearing isn't mine. It's my cousin Cathy's, and I know when I leave, I will have to return it to her. You'd think if I loved something THAT much my mom would buy me one. But, you'd be mistaken. When I begged her to purchase this vest for me she said, "Why would I buy you a jacket with NO ARMS?!? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen!" I just wanted to be like Mork, but she didn't understand. Stupid moms.
Perhaps the best picture of the bunch. I give you my Halloween costume of 1974. Do you know who I am supposed to be?
I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. The 70s RULE!
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