Moving is the worst. But in the process of moving, sometimes you unearth some gems. Like this one.
I'm guessing this was taken in 1997 in Traci's basement, shortly after we started dating. Nearly 20 years later, it now lives in our basement.
It's one of my favorite pictures of us.
I posted it on Facebook and it went bananas. Likes were plentiful and comments were flying everywhere. Things like:
"What's on your head, Spencer?"I couldn't help but feel like I was being teased a bit. So...
"Wow." "Bleach! Yesssss."
"Collaborate and listen. Spence in back with a brand new edition..."
"OMG! Is that Lance Bass?"
"Backstreet's back ALRIGHT!"
First of all. That was not Vanilla Ice hair. (Though I did have Vanilla Ice hair in the sixth grade.) It was not Lance Bass hair. (Though I've obviously had some run ins with Lance Bass.)
It was punk rock hair. (See Billie Joe Armstrong, circa Dookie.)
Second of all. It was cool.
Sure. This picture makes people giggle. I'm sure my kids will look at it and laugh the way we laugh about Traci's dad's baby blue wedding tuxedo. But if you went to high school in the late '90s, I'm sure it makes sense.
There's this piece of Mormon doctrine (or maybe a Mormon myth) that says after we die we'll be resurrected to our perfect state. I'm pretty sure this is it for Traci and me. (When Traci saw this on Facebook, the first thing she said was, "I was having a great hair day.)
Even though I'm now old and bald (Traci is young and beautiful), this is still how I picture us. Me with the bleached hair and long sideburns and Traci with the tight curls and the denim shirt. I picture us watching the MTV music awards and old episodes of The Young Ones and having big, big plans for the future.
If this is how we're going to look in heaven, I'll die a happy man.