“I need you to get your Aunt Bobby’s picture and bring it to me.”
An unusual request, but my little cousin complied.
My Grandma had hidden a picture behind my mom’s picture that she kept on her dresser.
My mind goes a little sideways at the mention of the story. This isn’t a photo of her and my Grandfather. She had a beau that she remembered fondly.
At my Gradmother’s funeral, we were telling stories. This was a special one.
My Grandmother had 12 brothers and sisters. She was taken out of school in 8th grade and “fostered out” in the Scots/Irish practice to help support the family. She and her older sister Crystal were fostered to a family in Charleston W. Virginia. My Aunt Crystal was a maid, my Grandmother was the cook. Their income was sent to their family for support, and to pay debts.
My Grandmother had gone to school with my grandfather. They met when they were 8 years old. They planned to marry. When my grandmother left for Charleston, things cooled down, and my grandmother agreed to a few dates as my Grandfather stopped writing or visiting her.
She sent this picture to my grandfather when he ceased his attentions. She told him that unless he fixed his car, and came to see her, she would agree to marry another.
Well, Grandpa got his stuff together. But Grandma kept the picture.
Her aloofness is obvious. The suitors ardor is apparent.
What do you see in the photo?
I look at the careful way she dressed. The peep-toed shoes, the suit, the little clutch bag, the possessive male at her side. The coy way she is looking away.
A picture paints a thousand words.
What do you see?