The Happiest Days of Our Lives (16 page)

My dad and me, in 1972. Even though I can’t see his face, it’s such a trip to see him at 24, in some groovy 1970s overalls. See the Hi-Fi behind us? One of my earliest memories is listening to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on it, through the giant gray headphones with the long black curly extension cord.

There is a very strong gene in the Wheaton family that makes all the men look exactly like this when we’re about 18 months old. My dad, my cousin Jason, my grandfather, my brother, and too many of my second cousins to count all have photos that are identical to this one.

Wil and Kasha, 1972. Until 1976, we lived behind my grandparents, on a farm in the San Fernando Valley (it’s nothing but apartment buildings and strip malls now, but until the mid-70s, it was nothing but farms from Saticoy to what is now the 118 freeway. Kasha was my parents’ Great Dane. See that couch? We had it recovered and we kept it until at least 1986.

As you can tell, I really loved that dog.

I spent almost as much time climbing this walnut tree in Canoga Park as I did falling out of it. It was hit by lightning in 1977 or 1978, split in half, narrowly missed our house when it fell down, and was eventually cut down to make way for a parking lot. (OK, I made the parking lot part up.)

All you damn kids today, with your ironic faux-old-school Spiderman T-shirts and fashion cuffs on your jeans can get off my lawn! I was OG, baby.

I had one of the worst cases of Pac-Man Fever that was ever recorded in the continental United States. It was knocked into remission, but still flares up from time to time.

Disneyland, 1980 or 1981. My brother has proclaimed his allegiance to the Pirates of the Caribbean, my sister is determined to climb up and hug Mickey, and I am really into wearing my dolphin shorts.