Concrete Memories

Several weeks ago, my aunt and uncle were in town to visit the family. Along with my mom and dad, they came and "kidnapped" me one Sunday afternoon to give me the Brown Family Historical Tour of Nashville, Tennessee. I know, right? I so enjoyed it, though. It was so fun to pass by their grade schools, the Dairy King, schoolmates' houses, and so much more. I even got to see the hill where my dad's bike chain broke while he was delivering newspapers on his paper route. And, the grove of trees where he went flying off his bike.

We went to visit the house in southeast Nash that my dad and uncle grew up in, and the gentleman that now owns the place was outside working on the lawn. The five of us piled out of my uncle's truck to ask the guy if we could look around the backyard of the house. It's the south, so no one's a stranger.

Of course, he said yes. We walked to the side door of the house to find the concrete stoop my dad and Grandpa laid. My cousin Tyler, brother Ben, and I had all placed our handprints in the wet cement back in 1986. Tyler was six, I was five, and Ben was three. Here's the picture:

I've bumped up the contrast so you can see it a little better. Tyler's hand is on the left, and that's a "T" above his hand. Mine is in the middle with an "MA" on top, and Ben's is on the right with a "B." I can remember stretching out my hand really wide, and enjoying smashing it into the wet concrete. Ben, on the other hand, threw a fit because he didn't want to put his hand in the concrete. I remember that mom made him. So he did, and he squeezed his fingers together tightly so they were all in a line. That's why his handprint looks more like a blob.

This image is the original date: AD 86. I guess my dad or Grandpa were trying to be funny, but that's not unusual.