My mom sent me this old prophetic photo from my pre-glasses era, so I must've been seven or eight years old. I was staged by my photojournalist stepfather into this readerly pose, ostensibly reading Trotsky's "History of the Russian Revolution" and squinting off into the ether.
I don't remember this photo shoot, but he was forever getting my brother and sister into all kinds of crazy situations, wearing worcestershire sauce on our faces to simulate dirt for evocative shots of rural, poor youth; leaping off garden walls in our pajamas for seasonal photoessays on spring exuberance; behind oversized dark glasses and wigs posing as local residents and answering the newspaper's question of the week. The purpose of this Trotskyite photo is unclear, but it did portend my future career. Still haven't read that book though.