Browse Tag

family

Faded Memories

Fifty years from now, people will not have the pleasure of going though old photographs at a flea market, garage sale or antique mall. There will be basically no hard copy photographs. All our photographs are now digitized and stored on hard drive or discs. You will not be able to rummage through a shoe box or album of photos. You will not experience the discovery of a unique image of a child and its pet or favorite toy. Vernacular photography will have become obsolete.

Existing photographs of generations before will have increased dramatically in price and be available to the few who can afford such an antique collection of 200-300 year old images. Hard copy images have become a thing of the past and rather than a personal collection, you will view them on specialty sites or order discs with enhanced images from the past. Today, family photos of relatives, vacations, fun time with the kids, are all in file on the iphones and pads. No more the bulky family albums we used to pull out of the bookcase and spread on the table to look at grandparents and childhood pictures. No longer the fuzzy, out of focus images with heads cut off and faded colors.

We lost something along the way to better technology. We lost the intimate social aspect of life. This is true in general as we see folks getting together for an event but spending more time on their phones texting and sharing. We share our happy times at the restaurant or bar but it is momentary as far as the images go for they will be erased to make room for the next event.

For years I have collected vintage images by going to estate and garage sales when families discard the portraits of family and relatives they no longer know or care about. I have on occasion gone back at the end of a sale to make an offer on the box of photos and albums no one wanted. I had been rewarded with most interesting images whose participants have no name or history other than they once existed and the black and white photo represents that moment in time when an experience was shared. I view these photographs not as someone I do not know, but rather a distant relative in the family of humankind whose name has been lost to me. A few images I have do have names so I can share that moment of time with Sarah, Thuy, Asako or “Uncle” Fred. and acknowledge their existence. We are all one family.

It is sad, at least to me, future generations will not have this privilege. Peace.

My Dad

 

My dad was not a people person. He had few friends and kept his thoughts mostly to himself. He worked long and hard at his job, sometimes accepting long-distance moving gigs which would keep him away from home several days. There was always food on the table and clothes on our backs.

I remember the time he got fed up with the treatment he was receiving at work from his boss and secretary. He had gotten the job as a mover through his father who also worked there. But more than just a mover, I remember driving down with him during the winter months on a Saturday or Sunday, to the warehouse where he would shovel coal into the mammoth furnace. I remember his little podium desk with the sheets of paper on a clipboard of things he had to do as errand boy, janitor as well as mover. He had had enough. He wanted better, and quit. I was 12 years old.

I remember mom teaching us kids a song to sing for dad when he came home from his new job as a delivery driver for Wonder Bread. We stood there and sang it to him as he walked in the door. He continued in that job for less than a year. He could not handle dealing with people on a daily basis.

I realize now it must have been extremely difficult for him to go back to the warehouse basically begging for his old job back. He was a proud man and, with this occasion, it sealed his fate for the rest of his life. They rehired him, but not without his loss of tenure. His dedication as a father and husband outweighed his personal pride and he returned to the job that his father had before him and one that, later on, I would also work at, with him, during the summer months. I dont think he knew how much it meant to me as a teenager to be working side by side with my dad at his occupation.

Later on, when I returned from Viet Nam, he and I would head out early on a Sunday morning to the local flea market and I would help him watch the tables as he set up items acquired from years of people discarding things and giving them to him when they moved. But we rarely talked about important things. Hustle was the name of the game and time was money to him. I wished we were closer.

There are many things about my dad and his upbringing, and our family history, I do not know about. He was distant in his socialization and, basically, lived day to day doing the best he could. I think behind that gruff exterior was a sensitive and caring man, one I never got to really know. I do know he was dedicated, loyal and faithful to mom and us kids. We were, evidently, his reason for living.

Happy Father’s Day, Pop.