There is an old Jim Croce song with this title, and I think of it when
I am in my study, the walls of which are lined with photographs that go back
some 40 years. All of the photos bring
back cherished memories, whether of wheat harvests back home in Kansas, holding
my infant son in the first few months of his life, and photos of my wedding
day.
Many of these photos were taken long before the internet, and all of
its permutations, came into our lives. We might get instant gratification from some
photo that was just posted on the internet, but the memory fades in a few days.
These photos on the walls represent a sort of permanent presence in my
life. They bring sadness in some cases
when I see photos of my parents; they bring great joy when I see photos of my
son, and think about the good person that he is, all these years later; they
bring comfort when I see photos of the simple farm house in Kansas, home, the
house that built me. These dozens of
photos of the walls wrap their arms around me as they serve as important
bookmarks in the chapters of my life.
Take the time to preserve the old family photos that you probably have
stuck in some box in the attic. They are
the links that help to bind us, individually, and as families, and they will
keep that special meaning for all of our days.
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