This picture appeared in a sewing magazine called Creative Needle in the late 80s or early 90s. You can actually see my spirit being crushed in my face. Look at the deep and abiding sadness in the eyes, the lack of genuine excitement or joy.
I have long forgiven my parents for dressing me in a smock and tartan knickers—like a miniature golf caddy from the 18th century—but I know the adverse effects still linger somewhere in my psyche. I worry most about the girl in the picture, who was a stranger to me and still is. She seems to be enjoying herself. Tragic.