Etched in Concrete

When my dad first moved us into this house, back in 1970, one of the first things he did to it was pour a concrete border for a rather large area in the backyard for my mom to use as a garden. When the cement was still wet he had me and my brother press our hands into it so that it would leave an impression (you know, the way it's done at Grauman's Chinese Theater, only with hands instead of feet).

Today, 38 years later, my handprint is still there. My brother's handprint is gone, the victim of erosion or some other means of smashing up concrete. However, his signature is still slightly legible.

My signature is easy to see. It's also very evident that I wasn't much of a speller at 8 years of age.

It's bad enough that I misspelled my name...I JUST DREW A LINE THROUGH IT! Why didn't I just smooth the concrete over and start from scratch? I swear I wasn't THAT stupid as a child. Or was I?

In this shot you can see my hand print fairly well.

This is all that remains of my brother's contribution to this exercise in posterity.

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