Taken by a Photograph

I am somebody's mother. I certainly didn't stop being me when I had a child, and I am now more me than ever, since he has grown and lives on his own.

Which brings to mind my own parents, whose lives are now over. Regrettably, I never regarded them as anyone but my parents. Surely once in a while I realized they had friends and did things with other people that had nothing to do with me, but for the most part it was how they related to me that mattered the most. I rarely considered the lives they led before I got here.

Then there is this photograph. That's my father sitting on the hood of the car. Behind him, my mother leans against the car like some gangster's moll, smoking a cigarette. Almost jarring and thus intriguing, there is a bottle of milk on the running board. For some reason, it looks like a Sunday afternoon.

And that other guy, my father's best friend, who I remember always being around as I was growing up. I called him Uncle Jack, even though there was no blood tie. Something in this photo makes me wonder about his relationship with my mother.

If ever there was a photograph like the one Jackson Browne "found inside a drawer" in his haunting song, "Fountain of Sorrow," this one is it for me. The people in it fascinate: They look interesting and alluring and alive, I wish I could hang out with them for awhile. Sadly, they're all dead now, hopefully together and listening to jazz somewhere in another dimension.

I hope your kids--and mine-- don't miss finding out who we are before it's too late!