This is a picture of me taken when I was just over a year old. The contraption I’m imprisoned in is an early model of the car safety seat. It’s made out of what appears to be stainless steel tubing and vinyl. I’m sure it was intensely uncomfortable, which is why I’m attempting to escape.
My mother tells me that his is a maneuver I frequently engaged in. I would lift one leg far past its current range of flexibility and thrust it out of whatever restraint I was strapped into. Evidently I was quite good at it.
This is a picture of my son taken a few weeks ago.
It would seem that not only has Logan inherited my extraordinary good looks and roguish charm, but also, my genetic disposition for a distaste in restraints. Until this moment, I was unaware that escapism was an inherited quality. With any luck he’s also managed to inherit his mother’s good sense with money as well as her study habits.
