Ten Years After

Those are my boys, ten years ago. Unorganized Hancock. The Spare Heir playing the drums was eleven. His big brother was either seventeen or eighteen. They did this whole thing themselves, no input from either my wife or me. I think I might have held a camera, because someone must have, but I don’t remember it.

I’m glad that we have evidence of the passing of time like this. Moving picture family album entries are better than snapshots. But it makes one wistful. They’re out on their own now, and we are adrift ourselves. We’re not on an island, but we’re definitely in the sun here in the Yucatan peninsula, so the song kinda fits.

If there’s still anyone out there who thinks that social media sewers like YorubaTube are actual meritocracies, show them this, and then tell them it got 1,000 views in a decade. Then mention that “Charlie bit my finger” got 897 million views, and was sold as an NFT for $700,000.

I have often counseled my children that in the long run, it’s better if people ask why there’s no statue dedicated to you, instead of asking why there is a statue dedicated to you. That kind of thinking might be thin gruel, I’ll admit, but it’s kind of nutritious, too.