BY MICHELE MILLER
Editor: What’s What New Port Richey
I hadn’t seen the photographs in years – decades. But there we were in my living room, my sister and me, shuffling through family memories along with the old black-and-whites and Polaroid’s.
They came to her about three months after our dad’s death in our home-state of Massachusetts, shipped to Florida by his second wife, who is tasked with tending to his matters.
In the old days it was a family tradition to pull out the old photo shoebox whenever family came to town. As younger kids we complained about being held hostage during these familial marathons; the old folks gathered around the kitchen table pouring through the photos and remembering this or that.
Sometimes it was worth hanging around, like when someone would pull out a photo of a distant or not-so-distant relative and slip with an untoward tale not suitable for younger ears.
Some stories were hashed over so many times that after awhile you felt like the memories were yours, spilling out over cups of coffee and pilsners of beer and threaded with laughter, tears, some dredged up angry thoughts, and “those were the days” laments.
Especially in times of turmoil. Civil Rights. Assassinations. The Vietnam War.
This photo was taken sometime during that tumultuous span. I’m not quite sure exactly when. Or where. I do remember that winter coat with the fake fur collar and cuffs (that’s me on the upper right). My younger brother, (bottom front) is sporting one of those first-grade toothless smiles, giving me a “guestimate” of about 1966 or so.
I’m not sure who took the picture, but the serious expressions on my older sister (upper middle) and our family friend, Bonnie (upper-left), might give a hint.
The photographer could have been my dad. He was the family picture taker and had a knack for sucking the fun out of what could have been a very good day. Polaroid scowls, exposed miraculously over a few minutes time, could be a teenager’s revenge and a reason for being grounded.
I know, because I got dressed-down the middle, so to speak, for this one taken at my sister’s high school graduation party in 1971.
There’s an even chance that photo was taken by my oldest sister (pictured on the right) , who got her own Polaroid camera for Christmas one year
The posers, who were then on the threshold of embarking on into those rebel, hippy years that drove our parents really nuts, were probably going for that serious, super-model look that was inspired by Twiggy and the like.
Yeah, I’m going with that.
Now onward.
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