I think I can put the whole homecoming thing to rest with this photo, which is a total mess in more ways than one. I’m sure it’s seen better days and has probably just suffered the ravages of time.

So let me see what I can remember about this awesome portrait. It was the day after homecoming and I, Alan and our family dog, King, a springer spaniel/shepherd mix, are standing in my backyard. We’re holding on to King because the yard wasn’t fenced, and he couldn’t be trusted off-leash. Come to think of it, half the time he couldn’t be trusted otherwise, either. Having grown up together, there was plenty of sibling rivalry, and I’ve always considered King my brother. (He is another story in itself.) I’m outta the pink, so to speak, from the night before and am back in my standard fare…sweatshirt (of Virginia Beach origins), denim bermudas and black ‘n’ white saddle oxfords—ones with red soles—not white *ugh, and sorry if I’ve offended anyone*. Trust me, I’m in saddle oxfords, which I wore all the time…basic cheerleader stuff. (Which is another story in itself.) I think it’s obvious why one of my dad’s nicknames for me was “Birdlegs.” I can’t vouch for Alan’s cheesy jersey, but it looks like something he fashioned with electrical tape for flag football, which, right there, renders it cheesy. And I see one of my mom’s roses there in the background, which appears to adorn…

The hair. Holy cow. The fallout of a bouffant explosion. My hair is usually straight, give or take an uncontrollable wave or two or at the very worst, humidity havoc, but this was unprecedented. Thankfully, all it needed was a good shampoo. Until then, I’m sure #12 and I had a good laugh then agreed that any talk about big hair and makeshift jerseys was off limits.