The picture of my dad and I has sat on my dresser almost since the day it was taken; and it has always been a sad favorite of mine. My countenance, just my eyes, makes this picture memorable.

I owned two dresses at the time that were almost identical. One was borwn; one was greeen. In my Kindergarten class picture I appear in the brown one, but at home I appear in the green one with the white colar and red trim. Beside me, my dad is dressed in an old University of Nebraska shirt he got on a business trip. These two facts, that I had re-dressed and my dad was in house clothes, indicate the rare spontaneity of the moment. Parental enthusiasm must have bubbled forth at the sight of their proud kindergarten princess drawing a camera from the dark recess of a desk drawer.

My bangs were long, hovering over my expressive eyebrows, and I must have spent much time blowing them out of my eyes all week. From the length of my hair, I know that I had convinced my dad that summer of the feminine virtues of long hair. (Today he is disappointed that I have shortened it to my shoulder blades.) Behind us is the old green boat.

The old green boat! We would take that boat fishing in the San Francisco Bay. Not a paitent fishmerman, I would curn up in the space by the passenger’s feet to dog-nap. Usually I would wake a couple hours later to find we had pulled into the harbor. Occaisionally Dad would already have trailered the boat. Considering the hours I spent sleeping on fishing trips it is a small miracle that I remember fishing in the bay at all. When we bought our new boat, Laureen, I lost my cubby hole and had to spend more time watching the poles dip and rise, dip and rise, dip and rise until I could yell, “Fish on the line.”

But the picture. I was not thinking about boats or fishing when Dad and I posed for the picture. I was focused on mydad who was tickling me. Mom was frustrated because she had a difficult, almost impossible, time of focusing the camera. Dad and I were no help. As soon as I had settled down with a big pearly grin tucked by my dad’s elbow he would lean over and tickle me, or pretend to, which was worse. We are only a family of three, but we acted like a family of six who could never coordinate for a family picture. Finally, Mom took the picture; but after ten minutes of this I was not a trusting daughter, so she caught a genuine smile, but I am glancing out of the corner of my eyes for Dad’s next move. His grin that usually filled the crinkles of his eyes, extends to his mouth, pleased with the joke.

You can not see, since my mom is on the other side of the camera, but we are a happy family for once. I wish the moment endured. I wish I had been too young, or less introspective, or in some way unaware how precious the snap shot had been. Dinner that night probably rang with laughter and I would delight in being five-years-old, but the next would be somber and I would grow a little older. When I was older I carried this picture across the country with me, tacking it firmly to the wall or tucking it carefully from view, with the ebb and flow of my frustration. If we could have fun like that one day, why could we not have had fun like that most days?