Safe in Daddy's Arms . . .
There are very few photographs of me with my father. My mother told me that he was nearly always the one behind the camera. In fact, I've only ever seen one photo of us together - and it was when I brand new. I found it in my mother's things after she died.
Yesterday, at my cousin's, she pulled out a photo album that she had been putting together from her late mom's photographs. And there was this photograph of me and my Dad. It was Christmas 1957 and we are at my grandmother's in Riverdale. I don't know who was behind the camera - probably my mom.
That's all I posted on Facebook, but there is more to the story . . .
I looked at this photo for a very long time last night - trying very hard not to cry. I was struck by how very happy I look here. In this photo I am about a year and a half old. He is 32. I have no conscious memory of him - by Christmas of the following year I would be 2 1/2, and he would be dead at the age of 33 from kidney disease. It was a year before dialysis . . .
I think the camera caught him just at the beginning of his smile, as though someone had said "smile" and then clicked the shutter just as the corners of his mouth were curving up into the smile that likely happened a split second after the shutter was clicked. According to my mom and other of their friends who knew him, my father absolutely adored me. Look at me - clearly the feeling was mutual. His giant hand holding my little one - me happy and safe and not wiggling or wanting to get down (according to my mom, "I want to get down" was a familiar theme from my childhood).
How I wish I had had this photo growing up.
How happy I am to have it now . . .
Yesterday, at my cousin's, she pulled out a photo album that she had been putting together from her late mom's photographs. And there was this photograph of me and my Dad. It was Christmas 1957 and we are at my grandmother's in Riverdale. I don't know who was behind the camera - probably my mom.
That's all I posted on Facebook, but there is more to the story . . .
I looked at this photo for a very long time last night - trying very hard not to cry. I was struck by how very happy I look here. In this photo I am about a year and a half old. He is 32. I have no conscious memory of him - by Christmas of the following year I would be 2 1/2, and he would be dead at the age of 33 from kidney disease. It was a year before dialysis . . .
I think the camera caught him just at the beginning of his smile, as though someone had said "smile" and then clicked the shutter just as the corners of his mouth were curving up into the smile that likely happened a split second after the shutter was clicked. According to my mom and other of their friends who knew him, my father absolutely adored me. Look at me - clearly the feeling was mutual. His giant hand holding my little one - me happy and safe and not wiggling or wanting to get down (according to my mom, "I want to get down" was a familiar theme from my childhood).
How I wish I had had this photo growing up.
How happy I am to have it now . . .
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Janice H.