The Proof is in the Picture

THE PROOF IS IN THE PICTURE

June 1, 2009

            Something was missing from the wall.  I sensed this as I walked through my laundry area.  A bare space had replaced a small black and white snapshot of my mother and father taken on their wedding day.  It showed my mother in her soft, dainty white gown and lovely floppy ruffle-brimmed hat.  My father wore white trousers and a dark jacket.  she had her arm slid through his, her hand relaxing on his arm.  Her other arm held a huge bouquet of flowers.  They were both smiling happily.

            Originally, the picture had been forgotten in my mother's photo album.  She preferred to keep it out of sight.  They were divorced several years after I was born.  He came to see us at our apartment when I was about five years old.  That is my only memory of him.

            Years later, I gradually asked questions about him.  My mother was always slow to respond, and I sensed anger inside her.  That is why their wedding picture was just part of a hidden page in her album.  But he was my father, and I needed to know more about him.

            After she passed away, I removed the snapshot from her album and pinned it on the wall of my laundry room along with some favorite family pictures.  I often stared at it and wondered why he was never a part of my life.  Why did he never seem to care about me?

            When I discovered the bare spot on the wall, I searched the area thoroughly, thinking it had fallen down.  No luck.  I remembered another copy somewhere in her loose photo box.  Happily, I found it, along with several other old photos.  One was my father holding me and smiling down at the baby in his arms.  I placed these in a little pile on my buffet, planning to frame them later.  When I showed them to a friend, the wedding picture was missing.  I know my mother was playing tricks on me.  I can hear her voice, "I told you to leave well enough alone."

            Meanwhile, I shall search for those two precious pictures, tenderly scold my mother and wonder about a part of my past that is forever lost to me.  But the pictures remain proof to me that I did have a father.

Joanne Murray is my cousin.  She sent me a book her son made for her 75th Birthday.  It contained essays that Joanne had written.  In the interest of bias, I am definitely biased so let's get that out of the way.  But once you and I get passed my bias you come to realize as I have that these essays are something very special especially to her family and THAT IS THE POINT.  As I read them the one of many thoughts that crept into my mind was "why haven't I been doing this?"  Why indeed!  These are thoughts of a daughter, a granddaughter, a mother, a wife, a cousin (like in my case), an aunt etc.  Most who will read these essays have that in common with Joanne.  There are people you know who might enjoy knowing what you think and what experiences you have been exposed to.  Wouldn't it be nice if you let them know by writing them down as my cousin Joanne has done.  It's never too late to get started.  I will be posting them here about one a week and do so with Joanne's permission.  Hope you keep coming back.  Leave your comments below.    Jim "Gymbeaux" Brown