You see, St Patrick's Day passed during my newborn period, and so it was used as a platform for me to participate with special garb and many photos. And then again this year, my parents recorded the occasion with the spirit of repetition and a sort of then-and-now thing. Here you go.
Me at two and a half weeks old, and my father:
You can see the resemblance.
And then, miraculously, a year passed. And, perhaps, more dignity was gained. You decide:
Here we are. I am no feeble specimen. I'm here to rumble.
In the above left image, note my father's concern over my firm grasp on his chest hair.
Above, we see how neither of us are afraid to dive into antics that scare my mother.
And, this final image is the last one my mother is willing to snap before she walks away, unable to conspire in such buffoonery. (I recall something like: Dammit, Wes, STOP IT. THAT'S ENOUGH. But, then Dadda says: What?! We're having fun!)
At any rate, I offer you our expression of the reverence we hold for our rich Irish heritage. I think we have some Irish heritage. I know we look good in green. Lets revisit next year.
Much luck to you,
Buckaroo
