The Picture With No Memories
The picture, that no longer has a frame, brings me no memories, but so many thoughts. I look at the man in the photo surrounded by giant Red Cedars trees so large you can’t see the tops of them. I raised seeing the same trees from the photo. My father spoke of this man with such great renown.
So many questions from that photo come to mind: who was he, what was he like, would he have been proud of who I am? How did life treat him? Everyone in my life has told me about him in some way or another. They told me how caring and kind he was, how he loved everyone, how he did so many great things in his life, how he would help out no matter what. My parents always told me was how much he would have loved me, how he would’ve loved to meet me. I wish I could've known for myself, instead of being told all the time.
That man’s name surrounded me when I was a young child. As a kid, I was proud to hear his name. as I got older I was still proud, but it became more painful to hear about him. As I got older and my family and I moved away, I didn't hear his name as often, but I became more curious about him. I started to ask more questions about what he was like, about what he did. I would go with my family to visit my grandmother and my old town. When I was there, I would hear of him or ask about him. When I got even older I started to ask less, and hear less about him.
I miss this man who I never met. I share my last name, I share my family with him, this man is my grandfather, a man I never met. He was gone by the time I was born. I have come to love this man even if I never got to meet him. All I have to know about him is the stories people tell, and this photo of him. I wish I got at least one moment with this man before he was gone, even if I didn’t remember it, even if it was just for a minute. That’s all I wish for.
