The Colonist. 1951.
I open the cover and am greeted by a page filled with multi-colored messages. “Hey Grape, have a great summer.” “Boy Grape, you sure were rowdy but no kidding, you’re a swell guy.” I move forward.
The obvious place to look is in the class pictures and I find him there. Staring back at me is a grandfather younger than I am now. A senior in high school who, while obviously earning demerits, was also on the student court organizing and filing those same demerits. A young man who shares my love of basketball; or perhaps, I share his. This man, looking at me from 59 years ago, I can no longer look at in this life. There’s a strange quality to this moment. The realization that my grandpa had a whole life before I came along. The realization that I only knew one aspect of him.
Perhaps it would sadden some. For me, it makes turning every discolored, aging page an exciting and beautiful moment of discovery.