Here we are in 1989, somewhere in Salem, Oregon. My dad is wearing the shirt every Chamorro man of his generation wore: a Hawaiian-Japanese style fabric shirt (sometimes this was sewn with the fabric inside out, don’t ask me why).
I think I might have cut my own six-year-old hair, but I must have successfully convinced my mom to buy me some rad clear jelly shoes and a white romper. I am too busy eating to even look at the camera.
My sister Bobbie of course is way more beautiful than I am in this shot with those acid washed jeans, shades and white TOMS-looking shoes. She must have kept those sunglasses next to her purple Caboodle’s and bottles of Aquanet, clearly marked with a sign that read: DO NOT TOUCH IF YOUR NAME IS MONA.