Good Grief

William - wait, I should jump on the "cool" bandwagon and say "Will" - is turning SWEET SIXTEEN. Pardon me, perhaps I should say MACHO/MANLY SIXTEEN (whatever that means). Whatever you call it, it's not right. I saw him yanked from his Mother's womb with the Ominous Salad Tongs (That's the official medical term. Well, it SHOULD BE). In other words, since it's all about me, that makes me VERY OLD. In fact, two days ago I became THIS old!!! That's just crazy.

Once upon a time, this was a wee William:

Awwww - the glasses! I wish there was a shot of the eye patch somewhere... (That was all because he had amblyopia - double amblyopia, if I remember correctly.) Although that would remind me of the time, right after he got the eye patch, that I took him to the amphitheatre where I was in many shows so he could see them working on the set (you know, with super-cool power tools) and I turned my back for one second and he walked right off the edge of the concrete stage. Luckily it wasn't a long drop... You see, as I, myself, learned years later from donning on eye patch in a play, you have essentially no depth perception when you're wearing the thing.

But now, his vision is corrected, he's grown tall and has a basso profundo voice, and he's...he's...(can I say it?) A STRAPPING YOUNG MAN!

I offer as evidence the portrait of my niephews from January, 2007:

Compare this to LAST year's "Party of Five". A few notable differences are evident. Most importantly, I AM FREAKIN' OLD! Secondly, Anders is crying because his fly is down. We were all thinking that it was because he was tired of the process (as he'd already spent good energy looking dashing for his own portrait - I'll post that soon), but looking at a very large version of the picture today I realized that he is suffering from the abject humiliation that they are going to let his image - FOR ALL POSTERITY - be captured with his zipper undone. And they had the unmitigated GALL to try and pacify him with a BALL (see how he holds it pleadingly in the air). Worst of all, he is not quite dexterous enough to fix it himself and hasn't yet the vocabulary to say, "Pardon me, could someone assist me in zipping up my pants?"

But back to Will. I've been known to give him a bad time (just once in a great while, right?), but it's only because I want him to not talk with his mouth full, or speak in that voice that uses ALL THOSE EXTRANEOUS DECIBELS, or have questionable personal hygiene for when he goes on a hot dates. See, Will? I've only been thinking of you. And that's because I love you! I nag you with love.