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Frames

One easy way to tell if someone is a grown-up or not: picture frames. Kids are the thumbtack army, the magnet brigade, the Scotch tape clan. Syd has at least a dozen drawings tacked to the wall above his piano. T. uses the even simpler display method: scattering the drawings all over his desk, floor, shelves, bed, etc.

It drove my mom crazy that I wanted to tack up posters, mostly cute animals as I recall, though later there were pseudo-intellectual fine-art prints. I am happy to say that I did not go in for pictures of Duran Duran. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want a nice framed picture, or really, why I’d want to add anything to the few things she had picked to hang. It is to her credit that she filed it under Annoying But Not Awful Teenage Behavior and left me alone to cover my bulletin board with obscure poems.

I am not entirely a grown-up yet. I have photos and postcards leaning up against the books in my shelves. One greeting card, an artist’s print that I bought somewhere in San Francisco on a whim, bears the following notification: “Dear Mom and Dad: I joined the circus. Love, Me.” I need that just in case.

However, earlier this week I did buy a raft of small acrylic frames (have I mentioned that I’m cheap?) and about half of the photos and postcards are now fan-proof and dusting-friendly. I also enshrined T.R.’s writing award certificate under glass. But I promise not to let the illusion of maturity go to my head. There are still bubbles on my desk, after all.

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jan_can_too

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