Then I got to thinking (which, in my case, usually leads to some sort of mischief): Maybe I should take pics of myself in different emotional states. And so, Jamoticons were created.
Problem is, some of them are pretty subtle. You can't really see a difference between "dangerous" (me, with sunglasses, in sort of an Agent Smith three-quarters face view, complete with subtle frown) and "cool" (sunglasses, full frontal view, neutral expression).
Granted, I'm no Frank Castle, but there are some emotions I can't try to do in a mirror and photograph. I'm by NO means this guy (thanks, Grank!)...
* * *
I was revealing some things about myself that girlone hadn't previously known: My acts of contortion, being duct-taped to a truck, my many acts of stripping, and, somehow, we got to my convoluted family history.
It's not really history, per say. It's only this past generation of my branch of Jago that has a very different make-up that what could have happened.
My mother has had three babies die prematurely on her.
Needless to say, she's been a VERY strong woman in coping with this, especially since it happened in a two-year span. In fact, it makes for an interesting look at what my mother has been through, birth-wise.
Back in 1977, I was born. And, being the contrary person that I tend to be, I decided in the womb to make it something she'd never forget.
I came out ass-first. Perhaps THIS is why I'm a contortionist.
In 1980, my sister Kenna was born, prematurely. She died the next day. Apparently, I actually met Kenna (I was 3), when my dad took me into mom's hospital room. My parents, understandably, took it hard, but they kept trying to have more kids.
In 1981, Graham and Devon were born, prematurely. They died the next day. This time, knowing what happened last time, my parents didn't show me my twin brothers.
(Hmmm...Going over this chronology now, I realize that, while I've seen a lot of pictures of my childhood, I can't remember seeing any pictures from when I was two or three that had my pregnant mother in them. The thought has NEVER occurred to me prior to typing this...)
My parents decide to adopt a child, not caring if the kid has any physical or mental problems. NOTHING can be worse than seeing three children die a day into their lives.
So we adopted Erika in 1982. Erika had nothing wrong with her, other than clubbed feet. As an infant, she had casts on her feet and a brace to straighten then.
(Yes, this is why people can't believe Erika and I are related. I am a tall guy with a relatively large nose, VERY strong chin and chestnut brown hair. My brother is along the same lines. My sister is tall for a girl, with auburn red hair. And, yes, she's hot...Shut up...)
1983: Braden was born. He was a ceasarian, but he came out fine.
So, all of us were complications, in different respects. Every now and then, I'd like to see how my family would have been had the circumstances been different.
Would Mom and Dad have stopped after twin boys? Three boys and one girl, all within four years? Hell, would they have stopped after Kenna?
It would make for a completely different family picture...
* * *
This has turned into quite the different post that the one I was typing yesterday, when Netscape decided to freeze up.
In that one, I would have started, "Today, I cradled a dying man in my arms."
And, before any of you freak out, it was to be a piece of fiction about a cop. I tried writing it again after the computer problem, but I couldn't capture the whole vibe I had earlier. Ah, well...
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