Turn The Page

Without a word, you hand me a small, black photo album
The book itself is a little worn, but it's still in good condition
It must have been packed away for safekeeping
I open it to find a small, black and white photograph
Of a Christmas tree, that's attached to the page by corner tabs
And at the bottom of the photo there is a handwritten note
"Mildred's first Christmas, 11 months - 1930"
I recognize my Grandmother's handwriting
Then it hits me, oh my god, this is your baby book
I am totally surprised; I didn't know you had one
I've never seen it before; if I had, I'd have remembered
What's this sticking out from under the edge of the photo
I carefully slide it out; it's a piece of folded wax paper
Slowly I open it up; it's a lock of blonde hair
I look up at you and ask if it's yours
You smile and say it is; I cannot believe it
I fold it up and put it back where I found it
Turning the page, there are pictures of you at three months
Then at four months, outside in a carriage
The next picture catches my attention
It's a woman holding a baby
She looks so familiar; I look a little closer
Oh wow, it's Grammy, but I've never seen her hair so dark
The next couple of shots mesmerize me, too
They are close-ups of a young woman
Sitting on the steps of a porch, holding a baby
Is that Grammy, I hardly recognize her
I've never seen her like this, so very young
Her hair isn't gray or white the way I've always seen it
And I laugh to myself, as I realize that
She has always worn her hair the very same way
Then there is Great Granddad, holding you
Look at his hair; it's so dark, no gray at all
Next there are several shots of Grampa with you
I just shake my head and turn the page
You look like such a happy baby
There are so many shots of you smiling
And in the different photographs taken
At different angles, I recognize in that smile
The faces of your children and even your grandchildren
As I turn the page, I'm really intrigued by this one
It's the only photo of the three of you together
You're all standing in the yard, it appears to be summer
And Grammy and Grampa are on either side of you
Holding your hands as you walk
The picture is really small
But it looks like they're smiling
They seem to be such a happy little family
I wonder where the happiness went
And if they were ever really happy
Just because I haven't seen it
Doesn't mean they weren't
I never really thought they
Were in love with each other
I knew they cared about each other
But most of the time, it felt like
They simply tolerated the other
Turning the pages, you're 20 months now
And getting around quite well on your own
Aw, you are such a little cutie
It's amazing to see pictures of places and things
That you've told me about so many times
Like where you were born and lived for a while
Or like the runners on the doll carriages
So it'd be easier to push them in the snow
Life may have been hard back then
But it looks as though you were well cared for
And you still had some fun
She took most of these shots, didn't she?
But I already knew the answer; I felt it
I can see her now, setting up the shots
Checking out the light and getting you into position
I can also see her sitting at a table, after she'd put you to bed
And loving putting together this photo album for you
"And Granddad was quite the photographer, too
He'd set up his equipment and take self portraits"
I never knew Grammy liked to take pictures
I wonder if I got some of my talent from her
And I smile fleetingly at the thought
Then it immediately saddens me
If I'd only known we had that in common
An interest that we could have shared
Maybe we could have been closer
I feel as though I hardly knew my grandparents
I realize that it's possible to love someone
For simply being who they are
Their relationship to you
And not what you know about them

I didn't think I had any regrets
But sitting here right now, I'm not so sure
I never would have believed that a photo album
Could change my point of view about so many things
And manage to fill in some missing pieces
To the puzzle of my family's history
Simply by opening a little, black book
And turning the page

6.13.01