A long time ago, in a city far, far away, my father, Dimitrios ‘Kouros’ Panagiotopoulos, my mother, Artemis Panagiotopoulou (née Fytros), and their two children, Yiannis and Vaggelis, lived on a quiet street: 101 Kyprou (Κυπρου 101) in Corinthos, Greece.
Living in Corinthos in the early 1950s was pure and beautiful. My mom had the important role of taking care of the kids and our home, while my dad worked as a Byzantine music teacher at the nearby (but now defunct) Corinthos Theological School (Ref 1, Ref 2).
The image above shows our home in Corinthos as it stands today, intact after seventy years. The main entrance still has the original door knocker, shaped like a hand. Wow! The house now seems abandoned and in disrepair.
I’m standing on the left, pointing to the door knocker, and my brother is on the right. At the front left of the house was the kids’ bedroom, and on the right was the ‘dining room,’ which was actually a room used to dry pasta during the summer months and remained unoccupied for the rest of the year.
My mom would tell me stories about how she had to work on my anger and language issues because I had a ‘potty mouth.’ Yes, I cursed like a drunken sailor. But I digress.
The picture above shows who my dad was—always wearing a three-piece suit and a tie. I’m in the front row next to my dad, probably holding a stick and pretending to shoot at something. My brother is right behind me, with his right arm extended.
Goodness gracious! Was I really that skinny?
In the picture on the left, I’m probably 5 or 6 years old, around 1960, standing on the dock of the port of Corinthos. Just look at me—skin and bones!
In the picture on the right, I’m holding an inflatable fish, likely meant to be used as a floating device, while my brother has his left arm around my shoulders.