Like the things my father saw, there was always the influence of family. My grandfather saw the world the same. Of course, a father passes their vision to their son, or so they hope, Or to their daughter, in the modern world, and what have always been daughters and sons don’t matter. Children matter. A father passes his vision to his children. A mother passes her vision to her children. But children don’t mean a genetic connection. It is the relationship forged by sickness. It is the relationship forged by time. But the vision that is shared is something you don’t realize when you are young. I know, being young I was angry, frustrated and stifled, held by the world in check.
I suspect like most children I blamed my parents for the world holding me back. The concept of qualification is a hard one for the child to learn. You need to have a voice. All of us have a voice. But you need to stop, to see both sides. The path to where you want to be lies beyond where you are now. But as a child, I didn’t see that. I didn’t hear the voices. I know my grandfather was around a lot. I see the love in the pictures taken and stored. They were carefully organized by year, by event and stored for 50 years in an airtight container. You have to carefully store physical pictures, slides, and film. Over time the presence of water and other contaminants cause them to decay.
But the vision isn’t a physical picture. It doesn’t decay. It isn’t a Moonshot toy from 1969 that didn’t have batteries (Santa forgot batteries). It wasn’t a bicycle or a dog. It wasn’t a set of memories shared on paper or with the world. It wasn’t college tuition or standing with you, as the doctor stitched you up from an injury. Holding your hand so that you knew it was ok. It was the love captured in the pictures. That is the gift that parents give to children. Love. It takes years to understand that love is the single greatest thing anyone can give. That love that can be seen in pictures and felt in memories doesn’t go away because the calendar changes or clocks move forward and backward. It doesn’t change because a child gets angry. Anger is a burning flame. Eventually consuming everything, it means nothing. It is the love in the pictures shared that matters.