2016-03-27 12:03 PM
Studying the Great Courses on Creative Non-Fiction with the West Side Community Center Writer’s Club led to an assignment to write about a family photo. My rough draft composition follows.
Last summer I received a letter from an unfamiliar name stating that she was writing on behalf of Charles Boydston and asking if I would be interested in old family photos that were in his possession. If so, please call a phone number. I recognized the name Charles Boydston as an uncle that I believed was deceased. I called the number and discovered that I was talking to my cousin Brian. Brian is now in a care facility with acute arthritis. We talked for a while and I agreed to take the photos that he offered to send. Brian was named after his father and that explained the usage of his dad’s name even though I always knew him as Brian.
When the package arrived, there were two copies of the same picture. A picture that I was familiar with as I have this photo in my family album that my mother prepared for me long ago. I did not really think about them very much. I showed them to my mother, she kept one, I kept one and tossed it into the tote bag that I had used to carry some Sam’s purchases to her. Sometime later, upon unpacking Sprouts’ purchases, I discovered the photo in the bottom of the bag. At this time I noticed many horizontal scratches on it and discovered that I could scratch it by dragging a fingernail across the surface. Plus it was sharper in detail, not yellowed like my copy. I concluded it was an original and not produced by the negative emulsion photograph development process. Rather, it was closer to a tin type. But not a true tin type as it was not printed on a piece of metal. It showed sharper detail, too bad I didn’t realize this before I carelessly dropped it into the bottom of a tote bag.
This is not the real subject of the story. The family depicted shows my Father and Mother, myself – aged about one – and my sister and who was 2 ½ years older than I. I have no recollection of the event. My sister remembered everything. She was jealous of me when I came along. After that time, she was the absolute center of my Mother and Father’s attention. So while getting my version of the photo out of my family album, I noticed another photograph that I decided to write about. Titled Doyle & Cat 1946, it’s a small 2 x 3 inched black and white Polaroid looking thing that I long noticed but never really attempted to analyze. I was four years old at this time, barefoot, shirtless, wearing tot’s overalls, curly hair atop my head, squinting into the sun, holding a young cat by its tail. I wondered, “How did this pose come about?”
Whose idea was it that I pose with the cat by its tail? Was it my Father’s? Did he say “Hey, hey, hey, here, Sonny Boy, grab that cat by its tail so we can have some laughs?” He laughed in a braying sort of way, “Hee, hee, hee”, sounding like a muted jackass, sucking his breath in rapidly. Or, was it my idea, did I say, “Wait, let me grab this cat by its tail first.” Probably not, according to my sister, I could barely speak when I started first grade. Perhaps I just walked or dragged the cat around by his tail all the time. Was the cat my blanket, like Linus’s blanket? I asked my Mother about it during a phone call recently. She said, “It was just an accident, just an accident.” This hardly clarifies anything or explains nothing, typical of my Mother’s explanations, nothing. Did the cat just fall out of the sky into hand at the same time the shutter snapped? Was I cradling the cat loving with both hands and it slipped squirmed out of my arms finally slipping free as its tail slipped through my hand at the instant the camera snapped the shot? Was my sister in the background, screaming, “You had better let go of that cat or I’ll beat the snot out of you?”
My mother volunteered, “Your sister told me that the best thing I ever did was to divorce your Dad.” I turned the question around and asked, “Does that mean that the worst thing you ever did was to marry my Dad?” She said, “There wasn’t a lot to choose from in those times and places,” further saying that she always did the best she could. This is a common justification. Doesn’t everyone do the best they can? Do you know anyone that doesn’t do the best they can? Is just another meaningless rationalization that I accepted for years without question. Happy Easter, Mom. 02:26 PM
2016-03-29 07:32 PM
The revision process starts by pasting the rough draft on my Manzano Jack blog and incorporating the suggestion made by
Grammerly.
2016-03-29 08:54 PM
First Revision:
The Great Courses on Creative Non-Fiction homework assignment for session number two was to write about a family photo. This class is located at the West Side Community Center and conducted by The Writer's Club.
Last summer I received a letter from an unfamiliar name. The writer was writing on behalf of Charles Boydston. Charles wanted to know if I was interested in old family photos that were in his possession. If so, please call his phone number. I recognized the name Charles Boydston as an uncle that I believed was deceased. I called the number and discovered that I was talking to my cousin Brian. Brian is now in a care facility with acute arthritis. We talked for a while and I agreed to take the photos that he offered to send. Brian was named after his father and that explained the usage of his dad’s name even though I always knew him as Brian.
When the envelope arrived, there were two copies of the same picture. The picture was one that I was familiar with as I have a copy of this photo in a photo album that my mother gave to me long ago. So I did not at them closely. I later showed them to my mother. She kept one. I kept the other one in the mailing envelope and tossed it back into the tote bag that I had used to carry some Sam’s purchases to her. A few weeks later while unpacking Sprouts’ grocery purchases from the tote bag, I noticed the envelope at the bottom of the bag and rediscovered the photo. At this time, I noticed many horizontal scratches and discovered that I could scratch it by dragging a fingernail across the surface. Plus it was sharper in detail, not yellowed like my copy. I concluded it was an original and not produced by the negative emulsion photograph development process. Rather, it was closer to a tintype. But not a true tintype as it was not printed on a piece of metal. It showed sharper detail, too bad I hadn't realized this before I carelessly dropped the mailing envelope back into the bottom of the tote bag.
The family depicted shows my Father and Mother, myself – aged about one – and my sister who is 2 3/4 years older than me. I have no recollection of my early life. My sister remembers everything. She was jealous of me when I came along. Until I was born, she was the absolute center of my Mother and Father’s attention.
While comparing this version of the photo to the copy in my photo album, I noticed another photograph that I also decided to write about. Titled 'Doyle & Cat 1946', it’s a small 2 x 3 inch black and white faded print that I've always been aware of but never attempted to analyze. I was four years old at that time, barefoot, shirtless, wearing tot’s overalls, curly hair atop my head, squinting into the sun, and holding a young cat by its tail. Putting on my Creative Non-Fiction investigative hat, I wondered, “How did this pose come about?”
Whose idea was it that I pose holding the cat by its tail? Was it my Father’s? Did he say “Hee, hee, hee, here, Sonny Boy, grab that cat by its tail so we can have some laughs?” He laughed in a braying sort of way, “Hee, hee, hee”, sounding like a muted jackass, sucking his breath in rapidly. Or, was it my idea, did I say, “Wait, let me grab this cat by its tail first.” Probably not, according to my sister, I could barely speak when I started first grade. Perhaps I just walked or dragged the cat around by his tail all the time. Was the cat my blanket, like Linus’s blanket?
I asked my Mother about it during a phone call recently. She said, “It was just an accident, just an accident.” This doesn't explain anything, typical of my Mother’s nonsensical explanations. Am I supposed to believe that the cat accidently fell off the roof into my hand at the same time the shutter snapped? Was I cradling the cat lovingly in my arms and it squirmed out of my grasp with its tail finally slipping through my hand at the instant the photo was taken?
In the spirit of considering what other people may have been present and doing at the time the photo was taken, I wonder if my sister was in the background, screaming, “You had better let go of that cat's tail or I’ll beat the snot out of you?” Did I defiantly grin and hold on tighter? And then begin running for my life as soon as the photo was taken?
Unrelated to the photo, my Mother then volunteered, “Your sister told me that the best thing I ever did was to divorce your Dad.” I turned the question around and asked, “Does that mean that the worst thing you ever did was to marry my Dad?” She said, “There wasn’t a lot to choose from in those times and places,” further saying that she always did the best she could. This is one of her common justifications. I question this rationalization these days by asking, silently of course; "Best for who?" and "Doesn’t everyone do the best they can? Do you know anyone that doesn’t do the best they can?" I now view the 'She always did the best she could' phrase as a meaningless explanation that I accepted without question for years.
