How different you look to me now, the house I grew up in. Is there another family growing up in you? How many have you seen, over the years, happy families, sad families, all sharing their lives with you? Do you remember this family, my family, standing on the small square cement patio at your front door, having their picture taken, so many years ago? I was only 10 years old then; I'd lived in you for 5 years, and I spent another eight years with you before leaving for university. But you will always feel like home to me.
Today, I visited my brother in Newmarket, Ontario, the town we grew up in. I've been thinking of doing a "Dear Photograph" post, so I brought with me an old photo of us standing in front of our house.
My brother drove us over, and as he approached the house, he asked, "So are you going to knock on the door, ask them if you can take a photo?"
"No, I'll just take it," I said, as he parked across the road in front of the house. "What the heck, it's only a couple photos." I reached for the door handle.
Just then, a police car passed us on the street.
"But I think I'll wait till the police car's gone," I added, settling back in the seat..
When the coast was clear, I dragged my husband out with me to stand in front of the house holding the photo while I lined up the shot. It's not as easy as it looks, taking a "Dear Photograph" picture. I should have had him go closer to the house, but I knew he'd balk at walking on their lawn. I was pushing my luck to get him to stand on the public sidewalk holding the photo while I shot three pics, making adjustments to his hand, my angle, etc.
Then we drove down the street to the house I lived in from 2 - 5 years old. This was easier, because I hadn't thought to bring a photo, so I could just snap a picture, not a "Dear Photograph" picture of then and now..