My father always tells me that when I was born and he first saw me, I was the ugliest damned baby he had ever seen. Evidence seems to support this: I have but one picture of me while I was little. Said picture might have been taken when I was already out of my ugly phase, as I (and I have at least one witness to confirm this) look dashingly cute, in knee-long red socks and smiling through my pacifier. Then again, I have no immediate proof that this picture is even mine. I have 5 other brothers, and it might well be that the picture is of one of them, a coverup to shield me from some hidden truth. I’m not sure what this truth mat be, but it could (or should) involve aliens, and the U.S. government.

So, given that I had but one proof of my childhood, I did what any sensible person would do: I used it as a pagekeeper in my travel book: The Cyrptonomicon, a 900-page thriller which I have read halfways about twenty times during trips. I never seem to finish it, but it has a rare quality that makes it an ideal travel companion, namely, that it switches from incredibly engaging to terrifyingly boring in a chapter, which makes it a great alternative to both the in-flight movie and sleeping pills. After last week’s move, I got my book boxes in order and found the Cryptonomicon. I flipped through it, and was horrified to not find my picture. I went through the rest of my books, a process that took the better part of an hour, but alas! It was all in vain.

I somehow believed that picture was unloseable. I’ve had it for the better half of my life, and I’ve never really looked after it. Rather, I kept rediscovering it through the years, like many other things I keep around. I’m a packrat, so I’m used to going through a drawer and finding, oh, a picture of myself somewhere 15 years ago. I always have a vague recollection of where all these things are, which is good enough to find them when I want to, but not orderly enough to have them organized. This plan had to fall apart, eventually. Maybe the picture will reappear somewhere down the line. Until then, I’ll just have to find something else to show to women to prove that I would make cute babies.

Make that eventually cute babies.