It’s very strange, not having any photographs of myself from when I was growing up. My mother is in possession of all the family pictures, and I haven’t seen them in what must be 25 years or more.
In my early teens, I discovered photography. I adored taking pictures with my Kodak Instamatic X-15. It had a “Magicube” (ooooh!) and if you know what that is, you’re as old as I am. I took scads of pictures, all black and white, and I remember keeping them in an album. I don’t have it anymore.
So, no pictures. And, as I’ve mentioned before, in a previous post, I have very few memories. We all know the power of a photograph to tell a story, or to prompt a flood of memory. One feels a bit adrift with neither.
A while back, I happened to come across one photograph that I’ve managed to keep with me for almost forty years. I took it in my early teens while watching the draft horse pull at the state fair. I’m so happy that I never glued it into that album.
I don’t know who these people are, but in a way, this old couple has become part of my family, part of my story. They look kind, don’t you think?
All photographs copyright Zen Doe