“Time it was and what a time it was,
it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you”
Bookends by Simon and Garfunkel
Each decade comes with its own fashion tragedies. They span from platform shoes, to bell-bottoms, and wide collars spread across the lapel of say….
a corduroy jacket with patches at the elbows.
I have a crate of old memories, which is like a timeline of changes. I have pictures of my family from before I was born and from my early childhood.
Some of the photos are black and white, but most of them are in color.
There are pictures of my mother when she was young and still living in New Mexico. And though I never considered it, my mother had an entire life before me…
The Old Man had a life before her.
I suppose the steps they took were the steps that led them to each other.
And I can prove this with a picture from their wedding.
Man…they were so young.
My mother’s hair was red, and the Old Man’s was dark and still full on his head.
I wonder what they thought that day. I wonder if they knew I would be with them soon.
Of any wedding photographs from any album, I have never seen happiness or smiles like that of my mother and The Old Man.
I sometimes look in the crate of memories, and each time, I feel the warmth as well as a tear shape in the corner of my eye.
I have photos of my Aunt Sondra…
God, she was beautiful. She looked like an actress.
She had long dark hair and dramatic features.
I have pictures of my Uncle Alan and Aunt Peggy. I have photographs of my cousins.
In most, their eyes are squinted. Their smiles are big, and as I mentioned, they too were caught in the tragic fashions of their generation.
I have a painting that hung in the living room of our house. Of all the changes in decoration, and switching of furniture, the painting never moved.
Its frame was the color of antique gold, with a small light that arched above the top, and bordered an old Jewish man playing the violin.
The expression on his face is beautifully sad, as if the music he played was how he bled emotion.
The background behind him is deep gold, but it fades to a greenish bronze at the sides. I keep this painting in a small room I call my own and I look at it whenever I need to remember where I came from
“Long ago, it must be. I have a photograph.”
It seems we have all moved in our own direction. My family is more distant now than ever before.
The inner feuds continue and neither side will back down. It has been decades since all of us were in the same room, and these are the photographs I treasure most.
I treasure them because it truly was a time of innocence; a time of confidences.
I miss my family as it was. No matter what their fashions were, no one had better smiles then any of them.
…and I have pictures to prove it.
The Written Addiction 