Flipping through old photos is like taking a vacation. Some pictures – even if you’ve seen them a hundred times – guarantee a smile.

I recently came across an old photo that brought back memories. In the photo, I am standing on our old deck by the lake at home. As my mind took a trip down Recall Road, I couldn’t help but compare the “then & nows” of the photo.

Then:
A flower is painted on my cheek. I either don’t know or don’t care that my shorts are on backwards – probably because I’m wearing my “kitty cat” shirt. This shirt, a purple ruffle-sleeved shirt with a big cat on the front, was worn upwards of four days a week – dirty or clean. My hair, bowl cut on one side and mullet-style on the other, is proof that my mother used to be my hairdresser.

Now:
Besides missing an occasional belt loop or putting my underwear on inside-out, I’ve eliminated wardrobe malfunctions. I’ve veered away from face paintings and about 10 years ago, my hair got a restraining order against my mother’s scissors. And the cat shirt? I wouldn’t mind having kept my old #1 shirt for a keepsake. However, my only reason for possibly wearing one now would be to express my odium of cats.

Then:
The sailboat in the background is my dad’s Chrysler sailboat. Wanting each of his kids to strive to be the perfect first mate (or just desperate for a crew), Dad devised a “Sailor of the Year” award. He’d track the hours each kid spent in the boat (without complaining) and reward the winner with a prize at the end of the year. He sold this boat before I was old enough to have many memories in it other than taking an occasional swig of my parent’s beer.

Now:
The Chrysler was replaced by the Redhead. I “took the tiller” for the first time in the Redhead when Dad told me where to “aim.” From beautiful, sunny days to thunderstorms, this boat has been through quite a bit. We’ve had to chip through ice to get the boat out of the lake “in time” for winter. We’ve taken it out on gusty days, resulting in wet sailors, a cursing captain, broken equipment and ripped sails. On several occasions, the captain focused on drinking beer more than the dying wind, leaving the crew with no option but to paddle home.

Then:
The old deck came to a point above the shoreline, where it was supported by a tree stump. I remember sitting on the corner of the deck while our family enjoyed each other’s company.

Now:
The deck has been rebuilt. Though it’s bigger, it’s not as unique. It stops well before the shoreline and doesn’t have a cool corner seat. The family still converses on the deck, but whether or not we enjoy each other’s company is debatable.

Then:
Our old, dark brown dock extended just past the sailboat lift. I recall being told not to do the Irish Jig on the dock, as it was a little wobbly. Many painful walks took place on that too-dark dock, the paint making it nearly impossible to tread barefoot on during a hot day. We used to have diving contests off the end. We’d beg Mom to rate us on a scale of 1-10, though not wanting to hurt feelings, Mom’s rating was usually given on a scale of 8-10.

Now:
Several years ago, Dad and the boys took out the power tools and built new dock sections. The dock is now twice as long, lighter colored, wider and is sturdy enough to perform not only the Irish Jig, but also the Charleston. We grew out of the diving contest phase and are now more concerned about allergies, getting water up our noses or the risk of having algae in our hair.

Then:
To the right of the dock is open water. We especially liked the area because there was no seaweed. Hours would go by like minutes when we would dunk each other, have handstand contests and do Tarzan impressions from our rope swing – a thick rope with knots that Dad tied onto a tree overhanging the water.

Now:
Our motorboat, “the great” Grady-White, is parked to the right of the dock. A main source of entertainment, it’s tough to imagine a summer without skiing and wakeboarding behind it. As for the area we used to swim in, it’s now thick with weeds, and to our misfortune, Dad had to cut off the limb of the tree from which the rope swing hung. Apparently tying a rope swing from it didn’t exactly make the branch flourish.

It’s odd to think of how much has changed over what feels like such short time. The old deck? I didn’t appreciate how truly unique it was. The motorboat? I didn’t know life without it, and you can’t miss something you’ve never had. The shallow waters void of seaweed wasn’t a matter of luck – it was a matter of defeating growth (grass doesn’t grow on a busy street).

Of course, I was just a little girl, but everything just seemed so simple, so easy. I didn’t know what “economy” meant and the only “blackberry” that existed was a fruit. The world felt like a better place when all I had to worry about was my cheek itching from my face paint and whether mom had laundered my kitty cat shirt.

Pull out an old photo this week and see where it takes you.

Shootin’ the Wit is a weekly column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.