Family
Photographs
“There
are pictures of the people in my family where we look like the most
awkward and desperate folk you ever saw, poster children for the
human condition. But I like that, when who we are shows. Everything
is usually so masked or perfumed or disguised in the world, and it's
so touching when you get to see something real and human.”
Anne
Lamott (Traveling Mercies)
When
I was going through my mother's house after she died, clearing out
eighty-four years worth of material leavings, I found boxes, manilla
envelopes, and even one typewriter case full of photographs. Like me,
she never quite got around to putting photos in books. Knowing her as
I do, since I run into her inside myself daily, she didn't want to
spend the money. Meanwhile they accumulated.
With
the exception of my sister, Jerrie, and cousins, Sandy and Ann, the
'pretty people', no one was very photogenic. In fact we were a motley
crew; squinting into the sun, lined up like people about to be
executed by a firing squad. There were no great photographers in the
family so most all of them are grainy snapshots of wild-haired folk
with red-spot eyes. In every one from four years old until today, I
am looking away from the camera—sometimes physically turned away.
(I hate having my picture taken.) So I appear to be the strangely
disconnected, possibly not-all-there, weird to the maximum, member of
an otherwise ordinary family. You can tell a lot by looking at family
photos.
Like
all families, when we were together, we didn't go out of our way to
'fix-up', as we say in the South. When people have seen you at your
worst, hugging the throne, or bawling your eyes out, there's not much
reason to try to put on a mask of make-up. You can let your hair down
and be yourself. Anne Lamott says that's why “most of us stay close
to our families, no matter how neurotic the members, how deeply
annoying or dull”. Most of us groan at the mention of a family
reunion, but we go anyway, because these are the people who know us,
who know our history, the good, bad, and ugly, and accept us (more or
less) as we are.
One
of my favorite photos is of my mother and Katie, my niece, at Katie's
wedding. Katie is smiling like a true bride, and Mother, beautiful in
her pink suit, oxygen tubes and all, looks satisfied, almost
triumphant. She got to see her granddaughter married before she
died—six weeks later.
If
you have time today, peruse the family photos. You might learn
something new about the folks who know you best.
In
the spirit,
Jane
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