riches of embarrassment

Christmas, 1977. The year of the Green Machine. Briefly, I was so much cooler than the other kids on the court who only had Big Wheels. (Check out the look on my face. I'm all, "the neighbor kids are owned.")

But what is going on with our hair? (Also, what is my sister doing with her hand? Is she doing the I'm a Little Teapot dance? I think she is.) I've looked back at the photographic evidence (the carnage, really), and our bangs are always too short. I guess Mamasan got tired of taking us to get our hair cut so often.

I'm contemplating a post on adolescence. It would be truly awful: braces, Kristy McNichol haircuts, my sister's spiral perms and her Michael Jackson dance moves (she was good)...