It's funny, only two images in the video reminded me of myself and my children. I couldn't really picture any of us in the group shots. They didn't look like my friends or how we spent our time. The pictures looked dated, too vanilla, to me. However, a couple of them did remind me of my childood: the one of the baby looking at the camera and the one of the child on her father's shoulders.

I was the first child (and first grandchild), so I have an entire mini-album (about 10 pictures) just of me at about three months old on my parents' bed. I'm pushing myself up and grinning at the camera, looking started at someone just out of the frame, exhibiting an entire range of emotions. I don't remember that time, but the pictures tell me that at that point in my life, I was adored, and that I felt safe and that all my needs would be met.

I took a series of pictures of my son (also first born) at about the same age. Subsequent children are definitely not the center of their parents' universe, and I think it subconsciously makes a big difference in what each child expects from the world, what's expected from them and what they expect of themselves. That falls pretty well in line with Hall's theory of space, time, order, association and other culturally defining attributes. (I know, at this point I'm not supposed to have read it, but if I hadn't started it, I never will get through this week's readings AND have time to post and read the posts before the end of the week.)

The picture of the child on her father's shoulders also reminded me of me, my second sister and my father. He's tall (6'3") and would carry us on his shoulders. I was terrified. It was so high up. Not only would he carry us around, he'd waterski with us on his shoulders. Imagine how that would be greeted today! Can anyone say child endangerment? After I did it once, I wouldn't do it again (I've always been risk averse). However, my second sister, like my daughter (the second child), loves the adreneline rush of new (and slightly dangerous) experiences. My sister loved riding on my dad's shoulders as he'd cut in and out of the wake. Birth order, I think, matters in how one approaches the world (but we'll probably go into that in the discussion board).

I had to think a little about what makes me laugh. I don't seem to do much of it today, too many responsibilities, not enough time - lots of excuses, none good.

I laugh at the unexpected, a set up in a joke or in life where the outcome is unexpected or incongruous. Steve Martin makes me laugh. The old Bill Cosby albums would make me laugh. His stories were like mirrors in a funhouse that took life and stretched it a bit (although I think it was his expressions and intonations that made if funny - along with recognizing ourselves in his experiences). Don Knotts in the "Andy Griffith Show" made me laugh, but in a way, his humor was like Steve Martin's, an absurd person who took himself seriously. For the same reason, I laughed at a scene in a Burt Reynolds movie (can't remember the name) in which Candace Bergen plays his ex trying to get him back by singing to a cassette. She can't sing, it's a ludicrous situation, and as she thinks she's being seductive, Burt Reynolds turns and just looks at the camera with a "can you believe this?" look.

I laugh when other people get an uncontrolled fit of the giggles. Laughter, like hiccups, is contageous. I wish there was more of it around to catch.