On September 7, 1931, cousins Annie and Eva gave a baby book to Clifton Kirkpatrick Meador.
Clifton, being a newborn, probably didn’t think too much about it.
Inside, we meet a baby who has a good feel for where the camera is.
He’s a chunky fella, patient when somebody picks him up.
A cutup most of the rest of the time.
His mother Mabel puts up with a lot, apparently.
His older brother Dan has the aggrieved look of somebody tasked with dealing with his brother.
Clifton finds life endlessly fascinating.
Ninety years later, my dad is exactly the same.
On Saturday, we celebrated Dad’s big birthday in large style, with masks and vaccinations the dress code, and coconut cake for dessert. We presented an under-rehearsed group reading of his poem “Fragments of Cahaba,” about the dead town in Alabama where he spent his earliest years. It was a bit of time travel that took us all back to the place and time when a much-loved baby found his way into the world.
Happy birthday, Dad!