Can you believe it? You're looking back to September 1951, 63 years ago. Hard to believe I was ever 18 months old. Evidently, I had a bit of a reputation as a climber, at least as far as my mother was concerned. She told stories of how I'd pull out chairs and climb up on tables and tool every opportunity to climb up cupboards by pulling out the drawers. Mom told eveyone I was a handful, which I can believe, as was her first kid.
Mom had beautiful handwriting, much better than mine, handwriting I wished I'd either inherited or, at the very least, learned from her. She wrote one sentence stories on the back of my easrly pictures, which I had scanned along with the front. Hard to believe mom has been gone 25 years and I still miss her.