I was going through some old photos tonight, and I believe I now have evidence that I've always loved chocolate cakes — or at least as far back as age four. I was really looking for a photo of the house I grew up in. This photo was taken when we lived in a house on Archer Street from the time I was about three and half until I was seven. Turning four was the first birthday I remember. Really, it's one of my first vivid memories in general. I remember the chocolate cake, and I remember that I had a doll that had a matching dress to the dress that I wore.
It was one of those simple family parties at home with aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins that I don't think any one ever does anymore. It's a little hard to tell without their heads, but behind me is, I believe, my aunt in the blue and white and my grandmother in the orange. To the side of me is my cousin Randy, who I am certain is anxiously awaiting the moment when the candles are blown out because he wants to lick the frosting off the bottom of at least one of the candles. I am sure that I would have claimed at least one of those candles, too. Because, you see, I've always loved chocolate cakes.