Writing Samples: "Silent Echoes"

I ask Dad what picture he is looking at. But instead of answering me directly, he begins to identify the members of his family to me, as if I had asked “Who are each of these people?”

Dad points to each one from right to left and tells me that they are Tom, Frank, Rudy, Sophie, his mom, his dad and John. He pauses at one, struggling to remember that person’s name. Then he moves on, adding the names of Caroline and Louie, but his finger comes back to the one he can’t identify. He thinks as hard as he is able, but the name does not come. That person is about nineteen years old, has a head of thick, jet black, wavy hair. He is shorter than all of the others and stands with his hands in his pockets smiling guardedly.

After a moment of uneasy quiet, Dad asks me if I might remember who that man is. As tactfully as I can, I tell him, “Dad, I think you are pulling my leg. You know that is you when you were younger.” By answering in this manner, I attempt to minimize his embarrassment, but it hits him anyway. With mist in his sad eyes, he agrees that this is he. Then he candidly admits that he had not known who this person was. (He must be wondering if this is another sign that the end is drawing nearer.)

Other photographs draw his attention away from the one that frightened him so. Children are squealing; horses are neighing; summer winds are blowing; old cars are chugging by; and people are calling him by his nickname “Peanuts.” We finish this viewing of old photographs on a sentimental but somewhat happy note. I replace the suitcase under Dad’s bed. We play a few hands of 500 Rummy, place a goodnight call to my mother and retire for the night.

These photographs are the inheritance of our family. Each family has its own treasure chest of these silent echoes and should take the time to enjoy them. Dad and I laughed that night too. But years later I cannot forget the one moment of quiet silence, as he held the picture of his own family and identified each person except himself. That image plays back in my mind every now and then. I heard Dad crying in bed that night, softly, wishing that I would not hear him. For me, this is yet another silent echo.

The End