I've been taking every opportunity to raid my mum's photo collection lately- for reasons to be explained next week.
It's been hit or miss. Who can follow the logic mum has used in her many photo albums, and whilst I wasn't looking for any of me and my siblings, there have been a few which have led me to stash those as well.
Ok, so it could be embarrassing, but as a parent I look at these photos, from the person who took them, and from my mum's perspective as she added them to her photo album. I am constantly amazed.
I love how many photos must have been disregarded to gain these, and how much each photo must have meant given that with film there was the ethos that every photo had to be good... or wasted, whereas today, I have to admit to being wasteful, for relying on one of ten photos to be the one I love.
So, this is the photograph, which my dad inscribed 'first photo':
And whilst it bore the transcript of first photo, I suspect it was my first portrait, as I also found this photo:
But, if that was pessimistic, then I found this one, I love this photo, a typical '70's look. I can't quite figure out why I am wearing a harness in a pram, but then again, I can't figure out the cushions either.
If I know nothing, I know I rock the knitted bonnet.
And simply because I don't know who would laugh loudest at this photo, I decided to pocket it.
The contrast to those sweet children.
I think I was fifteen. And awesome.
And I wonder what my parents made of us.
As we grew up, and found our own way.
And made our own mistakes.
And how the resolve existed to support us.
In spite of any preconceptions or reservations.
I do not doubt how much I have tested my parents.
And yet I have never questioned their love.
And I hope, beyond hope, that I will be the same.