Though I´m back at work, I´m so knackered in the evenings that I go straight to bed. Still, I think that this week´s photo challenge is actually pretty great and I do want to give a contribution. So instead of going out and taking photos, I searched through my pictures and found this one:
I knew for a fact that this post would be about my family.
This picture was taken on my first day at school in 1994. And all my family was there. My parents, my siblings, my grandparents and relatives. Especially after the TLC disaster of the last week, this picture comforts me. There was this time, this magical time, when my family was still there for me.
Look at my mum. She kneels at my side and she looks up at me and you can see that she´s proud. Look at my dad in the background (he´s wearing the totally nineties white and green striped sweater). He´s smiling, and he rarely ever smiles like that. My sister hugs my aunt, and she grins. She´s told me horror stories about school that turned out to be wrong in the end. The teacher didn´t ask me to come up to the blackboard and write my name in perfect script or ask me to tell her what nine times seven was. My sister taught me how do write in script and what nine times seven is, but still, I was so frightened that on my first actual day at school, I grabbed my sister´s hand and asked her to escort me to my classroom. Which she did, by the way.
And now look at me. The tiny, six-year old with the sweet pigtails and the yellow ribbons. I´m sure that was my sister´s idea. She liked to dress me up, especially when I was younger, because she thought that my bald head looked as if in desperate need for some jewelry:
Though I was scared on the day of my school enrollment, I knew that it was an important rite of passage, because everyone was there, and they told me over and over again that they were proud of me, and they wished me all the best of luck in school.
Later that day, we went home and there was more cake than you can imagine. It was a day full of hugs, kisses, chocolate and my little brother spoiling the fun for me by opening my presents. He didn´t know what to do with the pens and pencils and other school supply, though.
The thing is, this is what love means to me. To be who you are and to be accepted. My brother still likes to know what´s in my presents and he usually spoils it for me by telling me what he thinks is hidden in the wrapping. My sister, even though I´m the one with the Master´s degree, still likes to teach me how the world goes round. And my parents? I firmly believe that they are proud of me. Deep down. They somehow have lost their unique way of telling me that they are proud, but that doesn´t really matter much. I know they love me.