Well, this answers a lot of my questions. I came across this old family photo tonight as I searched for inspiration to write, and for the first time I noticed something beyond how truly 1970's this is. Forget my mom's Carol Brady shag haircut, disregard my dad's Cheech & Chong mustache, don't even think about my brother's "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt and old school Coca-Cola glass, and brush past the fact that I pretty much look like a boy in my flared jeans. Concentrate instead on what's really going on in this picture. Notice my parents as they gaze, if not downright adore, my brother. It's like I'm not even there. They are so in love with their firstborn that they can't even be trusted to pose properly for a family photo. His very existence is a magnet for them, while I pose alone, lost in a sea of just me and the camera lens, barely a blip on my parents' radar.
And so it goes.