Your mom reached over your dad for the camera, its battery-case cover hanging slack-jawed.
"Quick. Take the picture. What is that face for? What is that face for?" Your dad threw his head back against the couch, partly to get out of the camera's frame, partly to excise his laughter without dropping you on the floor. You started making some kind of you talkin' to me? Deniro face--snarling upper lip, eyes tightly raised, drool down your chin, fist up like somebody was fixing to get knocked out.
Snap. Your mom took the shot, and then another, the anti-red eye and low-light flash creating a small lightning storm in the dim living room.
You faced the camera and your countenance dropped. Your stiff upper lip lowered, showing your straight, lower gum line, and--snap--your mom got a picture of you again, this time looking like Sean Penn, except in a Medford City Police mugshot. Your dad continued to throw his head back against the couch. "Why? Why that face? What is going on?"
