One of the best parts about helping to sort/organize/preserve at your childhood home is the sheer amazingness that you find (and subsequently scan). Behold:
Oh hey there, Suzy- I mean MY MOM.
My Mom’s parents’ marriage certificate. (I pieced it back together. Scotch tape doesn’t exactly hold up through the years.)
Hey- anyone speak Armenian?
Now this is cool- my Grandpa Jack/Hagop’s naturalization certificate. See, people? I AM LEGIT.
“You look good, Keel.”
“I know, Dad.”
Oh my GAWD my folks were/are adorable.
It’s the little things. Unless you’re talking about a certain blue felt fedora which one of us received for Christmas ’93.
Then it’s the big things.
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