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My recent rummaging through a lifetime of photographs, negatives, and slides seeking some sort of organizational semblance for conversion to digital has been educational.
First, it’s taught me that making fun of my mother, who always wrote notes on the back of her photos, isn’t nearly as funny now as it seemed back then. I wish I had been that funny with some of my photos. Trivial things, like names, dates, and places would be nice about now.
Second, gazing at a gazillion images of my children’s parties, vacations, school events, and more, has reminded me of how much I’ve learned. While thinking I was imparting wisdom to them.
Like the time my son, Lee, wanted to go with me to the Museum of Automobiles’ annual antique car show and swap meet on Petit Jean Mountain near Morrilton, Arkansas. Sometime in the 1980s. There were no dates on the photos. And it wasn’t funny. Lee must have been about five or six.
Nightfall came quickly for a day that had started many hours and miles earlier. My mission was to find as many things as I could on a wish list of old car parts needed to keep my steed of oldies but goodies roadworthy.
Arriving around lunch, we walked the swap meet until dusk. Sifting through vent windows and valve covers, carburetors and chrome trim. All offered for sale by hundreds of vendors across acres of Arkansas mountainside.
My parents, who tagged along just for the trip, had called it a day earlier and retired to the room next to the one my son and I shared at the small motel near the mountain. Lee swam while I visited with friends from Shreveport, comparing notes on our most prized finds for the day.
It wasn’t long until Lee announced he was tired and ready for bed. “Two things,” I told him. “One, Grandmother and Grandaddy are asleep in the room next door. Be quiet so that you don’t wake them. The other is watch TV for a few minutes until I come up. Don’t go to sleep and leave me locked out.”
“OK,” he assured me. I gave him the room key and watched him drip pool water all the way up to the room and close the door. All in sight of the pool.
Arriving at the same door shortly after, I knocked lightly. No response. “Surely, he’s not already asleep,” I thought. I knocked on the door again and called out, “Open that door right now. I know you’re in there.”
Motel guests moving in next door cast a glance my direction while maneuvering luggage. I smiled. “Trying to get my son’s attention,” I laughed. They smiled cordially and disappeared into their room. I had the feeling they were watching from behind closed curtains to see just what sort of nut they were staying next to.
One more knock and one more request. A little louder. “Come on, open this door.” It had been a day long on travel and walking. And I was growing short on patience.
As I wondered why my son was not responding to my requests, I thought about our sharing the day together. He was patient while watching me dig through boxes of parts and pieces. Probably curious about someone’s fascination with old rusty car junk.
I tried to exercise patience on my part as we waited in line every half hour at the rows of “Port-O-Johns.” Trying to remember what it was like to have a first-grader’s endurance.
Still trying to exercise patience, I knocked on the door again. “Open this door … right now.”
I understood that there were things he surely would rather be doing than following me around. I also noticed he was taking two steps just to keep up with my leisurely walking pace.
One more time, I asked. Nicely. “Please open the door.” Just as I was contemplating my next move, the door opened. “Mom,” what are you ….?” My sleepy-eyed mother had come from the connecting room next door to let me in.
“See,” I scolded my son. “You woke up Grandmother and Granddaddy.”
“No,” Lee corrected me. “You woke them up knocking on the door.”
“Why didn’t you let me in?” I asked.
“Dad, you told me to never open the door unless you were sure it was you,” he replied. “You never told me that was you wanting in.”
Patience. Understanding. Lessons learned. I smiled looking at the pictures last week. Hoping I had learned half as well as he did as the years passed.
I also smiled knowing digital photos have dates.
