The year is 1976, and I am not quite one year old. 

We have returned to the states from Germany, where I had been born the previous year, and where we lived about a mile off base while my father was stationed as a clerk in the United States Army. 

I want to go back in time and save everyone from that horrible burnt orange and yellow upholstery fabric, and save myself from that strange, giant, psychedlic pink cat pillow. But in all seriousness, look at my mom. Isn't she pretty? A sort of peaceful, Jodie Foster-esque young lady at the beginning of her adult life, full of hopes and dreams for the future. This was before things started to get really bad for our family — the calm before the storm, if you will. 

I wonder if she can remember feeling the sense of peace that this photo captures? I wonder what she is thinking...

I want to hug this little boy. I want to run away with him. I want to preserve his innocence for as long as possible before it is ripped away. I want to save my mom, too. I want to change everything. I don't want any child to experience what he's about to experience.

But part of me just wants to leave him in peace — to not prepare him for what's about to come — to allow him to have those last few innocent months of contentment.

A snapshot into the past can be so bittersweet.

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