A Day at the Beach

            In the above photo is my family on vacation, sometime around 1966-67. From left to right is myself, younger brother Scott, father Walter, and mother Rachel. I was about seven years old, my brother two, and my parents in their mid-thirties. I have no memory of the photo being taken, nor the moment itself- but this is not our home, and there is a sand bucket beside me... I can safely assume we were at the beach. I have no certainty of who took the picture, only a guess- it may well have been my Uncle Jim, who with our Aunt Ellen often came along with us on such trips. I like the fact that it is not a posed shot, instead just capturing a relaxed moment where none of us are aware of the camera.

            What I see at first glance is the blue-collar Southern family that we were at the time. My dad worked in a machine shop, and my mom was a housewife. They were of modest means, but my brother and I didn't want for any of the necessities, nor the typical toys and other items of childhood. We all look happy and content. I'm curious about my faraway, lost-in-thought gaze as I hold a beverage... what was I looking at? Only my toddler brother looks directly at the lens, and my parents are focused on him.

            There are a few other hints to our economic status in the shot. Our clothing is nothing fancy. (It must have been a little windy or chilly, as all of us except my father have on jackets). And this obviously is a motel, as opposed to a more upscale hotel, which would have been too extravagant for the budget. Finally, notice the haircuts on us boys- my dad gave us these himself with electric clippers! I can still hear it buzzing.

            The photo is slightly out of focus, and beginning to fade. That corresponds well with the almost half-century that has elapsed since it was taken, and the memories that have dimmed over that time. The fact that it is in black and white also adds to its nostalgic appeal. Seeing my parents so young is a bittersweet feeling- me and brother too, for that matter. Fifty years has taken its toll on all of us.

            What hasn't changed? We are all still alive. The love that is apparent in my father's gesture and my mother's smile is still there, and we as sons return it, and of course understand it much better now. I remain that wistful little boy, somewhere deep inside of me. And I currently live at Carolina Beach NC, which is a very possible candidate for where we were way back then. A long full circle.

            Much more has changed, and none of it subtly. The uncle who likely took this photo, along with his wife, have long since passed. And although a careful observer could maybe match my parents' present-day faces with those in the picture, it would be impossible for the younger subjects. We were still growing into ours, waiting for them to harden into adulthood. At 85 years each, much has been etched into Mom and Dad's, and their hair turned white as the sand and foam along a shoreline.

            There is only a little more precious ore that can be mined from this image, but it is the most poignant. My favorite element in the photo is my mother's smile, although it barely made it in. It was almost never captured in the natural state seen here. She was extremely camera shy, and when she knew that she was being photographed the smile always looked forced, or embarrassed. This is a trait I inherited too. I have to be caught unawares to take a decent likeness.

            And last, there's a symbolism at work that really hits hard. My mom is almost cropped out, as if she were on her way outside of the image. Sadly, this will soon be the case in real life. She has terminal liver cancer and this will inevitably be her last year. Leaving the picture, as it were... I am thankful for all my memories of her and my family, and for moments frozen in time such as this one.

Bonus photo- my mom and I in 1961