Playing God
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be God? What it would feel like to change or judge the quality of people’s lives with a wave, a wink, a smile, a comment, a fingertip on a keyboard or perhaps the flick of a photo into a garbage bag?
This past weekend of the New Year, I did the latter. I calmly combed through dozens of boxes of photos and family memorabilia, and decided what to keep and what to throw away. It felt like playing God. Photos of relatives or people who looked like relatives were safe. Pictures taken with instamatic cameras on what must have been cherished vacations to faraway lands – photos of meadows, churches, ruins, seascapes and green fields – I tossed into the trash. These were mostly my parents’ photographs, pictures representing their beloved memories and important moments, their travels and sweet, often silly times at celebrations of family and friends. I laughed incessantly as I poured through them; and I cried too.
In these boxes I discovered the photo albums of my “real dad," John Sumner, and his sister, Mildred. I found a 1911 letter from my mom’s “real dad," Ray Hanners, to her mother, Alta White. These gems were revealing and liberating. I felt as if history had opened up a treasure chest for me to find the jewels of my own family history – and suddenly the people I had previously known nothing about, or had judged harshly based on hearsay, were very real and vulnerable. These characters from my past were amazingly present in photographs and the written word.
In the midst of my joy of discovery, I realized that I had to decide if I would keep their photos in a storage box, or cast them to garbage or recycling in a moment of minimalist victory. I heard voices in my head saying, "We can’t keep dozens of photo boxes in storage. There’s no room in the garage, attic or storage unit."
I must have viewed a thousand pictures of countryside scenic’s my stepdad, Jack, had taken in England, Ireland, Italy, France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland. I saved some of the photos that included him, Mom or their beloved driver, Remo Bartolini. Remo drove them around Europe more than once. These photos were important to Mom and Jack…and hard for me to cast into the trash pile. But cast them I did…so ensuring there is room for the same kinds of photos we’ve taken and love to look at now, that our children will ultimately cast into what we hope will be “green” dumpsters.
Maybe the hardest part of this cathartic experience was turning the decomposing pages of photo albums deftly crafted by my grandmothers, aunts, cousins and uncles from 1920 to 1950. Fuzzy black pages of these albums disintegrated into dust in my lap as I turned them; but the little black and white photos stayed solid. Sadly, I didn’t know who the people were in the photos because the printing evaporated on the album pages. I was left with relatives and their friends unnamed, unaccounted for, yet honored. I may not ever know who they were, but I know each of them was “somebody” in my life, just like the friends I have today.
Heavy topic? Yes. "Playing God" is always a heavy topic. Have you thought about what will happen to the photos you love, or your family members love, be they in a box somewhere, in files on your computer or in someone else’s care? Where are the pictures of your past right now? Tonight I can honestly say I have a better idea about my family history – and about me – thanks to the pictures saved by my family, and I care about the people who colored them.
The pictures Gary and I have taken of scenery may ultimately wind up in a trash can because they're not works of art like those of my friend, Margaret. That’s ok because we snapped them in the moment for our own enjoyment, and maybe for the smiles of a few friends. On the other hand, our people photos will probably live for many years, as long as someone cares who is in them. It’s the same for anyone reading this blog – your photos will be judged by future generations, and either saved or discarded. God would tell us to keep snapping photos.
“Playing God” with the family photos sent me screaming to the shower. I hated it because I didn’t want to accept responsibility for my family’s visual record. I did it anyway. I tossed a gazillion photos and saved the ones I thought might matter. You may get to do the same thing. Good luck.
This past weekend of the New Year, I did the latter. I calmly combed through dozens of boxes of photos and family memorabilia, and decided what to keep and what to throw away. It felt like playing God. Photos of relatives or people who looked like relatives were safe. Pictures taken with instamatic cameras on what must have been cherished vacations to faraway lands – photos of meadows, churches, ruins, seascapes and green fields – I tossed into the trash. These were mostly my parents’ photographs, pictures representing their beloved memories and important moments, their travels and sweet, often silly times at celebrations of family and friends. I laughed incessantly as I poured through them; and I cried too.
In these boxes I discovered the photo albums of my “real dad," John Sumner, and his sister, Mildred. I found a 1911 letter from my mom’s “real dad," Ray Hanners, to her mother, Alta White. These gems were revealing and liberating. I felt as if history had opened up a treasure chest for me to find the jewels of my own family history – and suddenly the people I had previously known nothing about, or had judged harshly based on hearsay, were very real and vulnerable. These characters from my past were amazingly present in photographs and the written word.
In the midst of my joy of discovery, I realized that I had to decide if I would keep their photos in a storage box, or cast them to garbage or recycling in a moment of minimalist victory. I heard voices in my head saying, "We can’t keep dozens of photo boxes in storage. There’s no room in the garage, attic or storage unit."
I must have viewed a thousand pictures of countryside scenic’s my stepdad, Jack, had taken in England, Ireland, Italy, France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland. I saved some of the photos that included him, Mom or their beloved driver, Remo Bartolini. Remo drove them around Europe more than once. These photos were important to Mom and Jack…and hard for me to cast into the trash pile. But cast them I did…so ensuring there is room for the same kinds of photos we’ve taken and love to look at now, that our children will ultimately cast into what we hope will be “green” dumpsters.
Maybe the hardest part of this cathartic experience was turning the decomposing pages of photo albums deftly crafted by my grandmothers, aunts, cousins and uncles from 1920 to 1950. Fuzzy black pages of these albums disintegrated into dust in my lap as I turned them; but the little black and white photos stayed solid. Sadly, I didn’t know who the people were in the photos because the printing evaporated on the album pages. I was left with relatives and their friends unnamed, unaccounted for, yet honored. I may not ever know who they were, but I know each of them was “somebody” in my life, just like the friends I have today.
Heavy topic? Yes. "Playing God" is always a heavy topic. Have you thought about what will happen to the photos you love, or your family members love, be they in a box somewhere, in files on your computer or in someone else’s care? Where are the pictures of your past right now? Tonight I can honestly say I have a better idea about my family history – and about me – thanks to the pictures saved by my family, and I care about the people who colored them.
The pictures Gary and I have taken of scenery may ultimately wind up in a trash can because they're not works of art like those of my friend, Margaret. That’s ok because we snapped them in the moment for our own enjoyment, and maybe for the smiles of a few friends. On the other hand, our people photos will probably live for many years, as long as someone cares who is in them. It’s the same for anyone reading this blog – your photos will be judged by future generations, and either saved or discarded. God would tell us to keep snapping photos.
“Playing God” with the family photos sent me screaming to the shower. I hated it because I didn’t want to accept responsibility for my family’s visual record. I did it anyway. I tossed a gazillion photos and saved the ones I thought might matter. You may get to do the same thing. Good luck.
posted by Shannon Ingram | 9:05 PM
1 Comments:
These are sobering thoughts of the journey ahead. Are there steps we can take in advance of losing my beloved Mom so it is not so difficult when she is gone?
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