you can go home again

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Well, I can, anyhow. So today I did. To Buffalo, for an hour, to see my father. He's spent the past few months digitizing the thousands of photos, slides, and negatives cataloging our family's life that have been piled in a cupboard for years. Over 3000 images captured so far.

Family in front of fireplaceIt's amazing the way a randomly chosen image can open a window into your own past. This time the fates were kind to me, and the image was one that brought back the best rather than the worst of times.

My father still lives in the same suburban house that we moved into when I was four years old. It still looks essentially the same today as it does in this ca. 1970 photo. That's me in front of the fireplace; my mother and my sister to the side; our cat Tango on the ottoman. Looks idyllic, doesn't it?

In a lot of ways, it really was. Sure, I can catalog my personal woes. But they pale in comparison to the privileges I enjoyed.

Mom and Nixon photoI grew up in a house infused with a sense of humor. (Click on the second photo, and then examine the larger image carefully. Note the viking spears pointed ominously at the image. The suppressed mirth in my mother's almost-peaceful face.) It was a house filled with books, and ideas, and conversation, and caring. I can only hope that my kids will look back on their childhood with as much fondness.

I find that as I look around at my life, I have turned into my parents in more ways than I can count. I would have thought of that as a bad thing not that long ago. Not any more.

1 Comment

Thanks for the memories...

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This page contains a single entry published on November 13, 2002 2:05 PM.

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