Innocence

Many times I have returned to gaze upon a picture my parents took of me as a child. No older than three, bright blue-eyed, with summer-tanned long limbs and wearing nothing but a Green and red striped t-shirt and saggy diaper––I am the quintessential boy-boy. The incredible emotion the boy communicates to me is nearly breathtaking. I hold a water hose in one hand which is clearly the object creating the intense joy prevalent in my child-face. It is an unbeatable grin… perhaps pure, innocent jubilance… as if to that boy he had captured the flailing giant green snake that is spewing transparent poison from its mouth as it twists and turns around from the power of the surging water. The grin is sheer triumph over the imaginary beast he has conquered. In the plain delight of such a moment my mother or father had somehow captured the snapshot on their…