I was the fourth grandchild. And even for Harry Roth, the novelty of taking pictures of this 'new' grandchild wore off a bit.
There are perhaps hundreds of thousands of pics of Happy (yes, that is his name), stacks of Steven, smatterings of Larry and eventually a few requisite baby pics of me.
Let's face it, the fourth child tends to arrive without much fanfare. As a result, pictures of me gooing or gaaing, are rare. But I've always loved this rare photo of me and my dad, and only as I just put it on the scanner and read my grandfather's handwriting on the back, did I realise that it's not me. It's never been me. My memories are a lie! A sham! Larry? But? But...
Ah well, it is still one of my favourites.
My father couldn't beam brighter.
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