I’m still looking for the image of me in my red Indians jersey. But the search has uncovered snapshots I had totally forgotten Not to mention the actual events pictured.
Here I am holding my new firetruck. There was a period when I was between three and five years old in which I was obsessed with firetrucks. I was fortunate, because there was an auxiliary firehouse on my street. It was used to store a spare truck and my mother had access to the building. She tells me she could just open the man door to the garage and I would be transfixed, staring at the truck. I still remember the smell of the rubber and canvas on the hoses. And the spiders. Good times.
