The cover photo on my new book, Bobby in Naziland: A Tale of Flatbush, to be published in the coming months by Headpress, was taken by my mother, in my grandmother's house, in 1956, with a Brownie Hawkeye camera.
"Smile naturally!" my mother demanded as she snapped the picture. Her direction made me so nervous, I couldn't smile at all. I could only stare into the camera in a state of deer-in-the-headlights shock.
The photo sits atop the piano in my house. And though I've been living with it for more than 60 years, it never occurred to me it could be a book cover. In fact, I couldn't think of any single image that would capture the essence of Bobby in Naziland.
"What about this?" my wife asked, showing me the photo.
It was perfect, I realized: the expression, the position of my hands, the saddle shoes, high-waisted pants, and 50s-style shirt.
Headpress thought so, too, and added the frame, wallpaper, and map of Flatbush.
"Good work," I told my mother. "Did you know you were shooting a book cover that day?"
She thought that was funny. I thought it was funny that my unsmiling four-year-old self had become a coverboy.