It sits on the very top shelf of
the bookcase, gathering dust. To get it
down I have to climb on a chair though my knees are weak and I am not as limber
as I once was. Black marker on a torn piece of masking tape stuck on its front
cover says that it is mine, made for me by my mother twenty-odd years ago when
I thought I had lost all my family albums.
Remembrances of yesterdays –
1968- a black and white, 5 X 7, a
family portrait taken the summer after I graduated from high school and was to
start college and before my older brother got drafted and ended up in Vietnam.
Seven of us smile back to someone or something stage right. We were all younger, thinner, more naïve back
then. If I could go back in time, what would I say to each of them? Would they listen?
1973 – a faded 8 X 10 wedding
picture done in some golden hue that was supposed to make everything look
romantic. It is one of the few I did not
rip into pieces and throw into the fireplace.
The dreams and the promises of that day are as faded as the portrait. To
regret that marriage and wish it had never happened would be to regret my three
children. To regret that fated
relationship would be to regret the lessons learned.
1953 – a 3 X 5, black and white
studio picture of a little sister smiling at her frowning brother. She steals the show as he watches. Now that
he is gone there is no way to make up for lost time and lost moments.
1975 – a small Polaroid of three smiling
women and a baby. My mother holds my son
in his baptismal outfit. My grandmother
and I stand beside her. The baby stares at the camera and the commotion, not
realizing the importance of the four generations, not realizing
that we live on through our children.
1992 – a color photo captures a
young boy (ten or so) holding a Spurs jersey up to his chest. Christmas wrappings lie everywhere. A very young (and thin) me smiles at
him. It is obvious that I love him.
1957 – a black and white school
photo, wallet size, of a little girl in a Catholic school uniform. I smile into the camera, oblivious of the
missing teeth and the terrible home perm my mother gave me. I don’t care. Life for a second grader is nothing but
great.
1950 – a home photo, black and
white, with a beautiful embroidered edge.
A six-month-old, barefoot baby girl in a pink sundress fights to stand. Nothing
will keep her down. My handsome daddy, always the gentleman, offers his arm and
I accept eagerly. I cannot wait to get
on with this life. I cannot wait to live
and learn and love.
I can see each of these photos. You write on a canvass and you paint beautiful pictures with your words
ReplyDeleteThank you, Lea.
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