Tucked away in a box of odds and ends, I found a lost photograph of me as a baby. It was just a picture of me in a blue jumper, half smiling with my head resting on a pillow. My name and age were scrawled on the back in smudged pencil. I showed the picture to my wife. She could hardly believe that it was me, although there was something that she recognized about the eyes. She was so taken with this photograph, she commissioned a full-sized portrait of it painted. She hung the portrait over the fireplace. For the rest of my life, I had to see it hanging there, smiling back at me, every time I walked into the room. I got so tired of it.