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If I had it...
Feb. 9th, 2011 10:56 amI would post a picture of my grandfather and I today.
I know the one I want. It's the two of us at a dining table in the airport in Raleigh, NC, right before I headed home after my sister, Caralee's wedding, a million years ago in the late '80s, early '90s. Neither of us is looking at the camera. We're just sitting next to each, smiling over our breakfasts.
Like pictures of me with my father, there is no mistaking our genetic connection. The Hyatt stamp stamps *hard* on the features. You get us all in a room and you don't even think to ask, "Are you all related?"
Because it's in our faces.
I can't find the photo album in question. It's either in storage or in the box under the bed. But I'm going to dig it out. Either way, I'm going to scan the one of my grandparents from their 50th wedding anniversary portrait session.
Sunday morning, I'll be landing in the place that my father called home for the first 18 years of his life.
No surprise, but I feel my father with me as I get ready to head back.
Home isn't a place. It's the people who hold your heart when you get there.
I know the one I want. It's the two of us at a dining table in the airport in Raleigh, NC, right before I headed home after my sister, Caralee's wedding, a million years ago in the late '80s, early '90s. Neither of us is looking at the camera. We're just sitting next to each, smiling over our breakfasts.
Like pictures of me with my father, there is no mistaking our genetic connection. The Hyatt stamp stamps *hard* on the features. You get us all in a room and you don't even think to ask, "Are you all related?"
Because it's in our faces.
I can't find the photo album in question. It's either in storage or in the box under the bed. But I'm going to dig it out. Either way, I'm going to scan the one of my grandparents from their 50th wedding anniversary portrait session.
Sunday morning, I'll be landing in the place that my father called home for the first 18 years of his life.
No surprise, but I feel my father with me as I get ready to head back.
Home isn't a place. It's the people who hold your heart when you get there.
