Talking photos

Pictures say a lot. Some carry smells or emotions or voices and can be loud or quiet or mysterious. And the most expressive pictures aren’t proudly displayed on a bedroom wall or facebook wall, because those have been carefully chosen to show good hair days and toothy smiles and portrait lighting.

Sometimes the loudest pictures are unsuspected, unintentional.

These pictures have been floating around my dresser since I moved into my own apartment. Much like extra buttons to shirts that probably don’t fit, I have these photos stashed in random places, and I don’t even notice them anymore.
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If I did stop to really look, I wouldn’t see my grandparents. I’d see love strong enough to keep oxygen flowing through veins and lungs that gave up several years ago. I’d see soft, tan hands holding out a stuffed Garfield. I’d smell biscuits and coffee on a sunny porch. Or I’d hear a soft, scraggly voice speaking words I only kind of recognize.

My family used to go on family vacations every summer. Rule one: we never went to the same place twice. Rule two: we never ate at chain restaurants. Rule three: we called as much attention to ourselves as (in)humanly possible.

My mom packed all of our clothes. Monday at Epcot Center … Let’s go with navy stripes. Tuesday at Busch Gardens … I’m gonna say red shorts, white shirts. Wednesday at the beach … Broncos shirts as cover-ups. Thursday at Disney World … Ah, yes, what we’ve all been waiting for — the toucans.
My mom also sewed. Matching outfits. Usually florescent. Sometimes with birds. We all happily wore them. My dad, behind the camera, also has on shorts and a shirt with the tropical print. My mom and I have dangly fruit earrings in.

What I absolutely love about this expressive, unintentional picture is the poor girl on the left. With the goofy hat. Who she is, I don’t know. But her face seems to foreshadow so much. Like the way I felt about family vacations and matching outfits a few years later, when I realized it wasn’t cool to have people pointing and laughing. And thus began my five-year phase of never smiling in vacation pictures, so I would always remember that I was too cool to enjoy being with my parents.

And even though my dad doesn’t understand, I’m still too cool to wear matching, homemade outfits. Even if they are stitched together in love. I still don’t like birds.