The "Gene" in Geneology

There is something about old photographs that I just adore. I don't know if it's the black and white purity that has been yellowed with age, or thinking about the adult lives of the children in these photos. I typically acquire photos that my parents buy for me by the box-lot at local auctions, all strangers. Strangers in photographs will be a post of its own. Tonight i'm focussing on my parents, my best friends. When my grandparents passed away, albums and albums of family photos surfaced to my delight. I have been used to looking at picture after picture of unknown people, but now I had snapshots of my parents' past. Just looking at a photo doesn't tell a story, you need the person in the picture to describe their thoughts and feelings at the moment. The first picture on this page features my mom in the middle, with her two sisters, my Aunts, holding "spears." My mom was supposed to be the zombie or human sacrafice. When my mom found this photo in the album I absolutly loved it. It was funny to hear that my Mom was a little girl, absolutly hated posing for this picture. She didn't think it was fair that she was being hunted by her sisters.

This photo was taken at easter. Growing up in a Polish-Catholic family, Easter was a big deal for my Mom's family. My grandparents instilled fear in my Mom when she was growing up, both verbally and physically, constant guilt trips and blame. That is why the story my Mom told me that joined this snapshot was so fitting. Apparently duing this photo, my grandparents were yelling at my Mom, telling her that she was choking the poor lamb. The little girl who couldn't have been older than five dealt with the extreme guilt that she was hurting an animal, which she of course was not.
It is so interesting to see my Mother's entire childhood portrayed in one photo.

I just adore this photo. My Dad is the littlest boy on the end next to his two brothers, holding his sack of marbles in his hand. In my present-day living room at home, we have a huge glass jug full of marbles. My dad had won almost every one of the marbles in that jar. My dad grew up on a serious working farm, being worked hard even at a young age. I love knowing that something as simple as marbles was a hobby of my dad's, one that
I still have proof of whenever I venture home.