I hated having my picture taken growing up. I mostly avoided it, and when I couldn’t escape I refused to smile — “I’m not a performing monkey,” I’d tell my father. I skipped having my senior picture taken, blowing off my mother’s requests with “You see me every day, Ma. You know what I look like.” A quarter-century, a number of jean size upticks and some male-pattern baldness later, I wish there were more pics of me from back then. I take so many pictures of my daughter, who is eight going on 14. I know better now. The world is relentless, the forces that can stop it terrifying beyond belief.
Knicks 122, Pelicans 112 (OT): “DRose, DRisen!”
