My dad’s father died when my father was just 13. I’ve always wondered what he was like and how he looked. While we were visiting my uncle’s house this summer, he showed me the stacks of boxes full of old pictures he had. I saw pictures of my siblings as babies, my dad’s old war photos (including his Vietnamese girlfriend), my grandmother as a young woman, my uncles as toddlers, and my grandfather’s sister and brothers. Every other photo that I discovered and shared seemed to spark another story. I learned about my dad’s white uncle Ralph, his crazy grandma Maude, and my grandmother’s mom, Pauline. I enjoyed every story and loved the new bond that I felt with everyone in the room. Unfortunately, the picture that I most wanted to surface never appeared. My uncle assured me that he would continue to look for the picture of his dad and that he’d e-mail it to me when he found it. That was June. I had stopped expecting the photo.
So, today I’m studying (cramming would probably be a more accurate description) and I see the indicator light flashing on my phone. I’ve gotten a few e-mails, and I go to check them thinking they’ll just be a few newsletters that I didn’t get around to unsubscribing from. The first subject line I see reads “Martin (Tank) Tyler.” My grandfather’s name. I log into my gmail and call my parents down. As soon as my dad sees the picture on my computer his face lights up. It’s a pretty emotional moment for him. He seems genuinely elated and I share his sentiment.
For some reason, with a huge smile on my face, I’m moved nearly to tears. He looks exactly like my Uncle Miami. I see my father in him, but I notice that my dad looks more like his mother. My mother points out the puffy bags under his eyes that are prominent features on both mine and my father’s faces. His smile is similar to my father’s. After my father returns to his room, I continue to examine the man in the photograph. I imagine my grandfather moving in his everyday life, raising my dad and uncles, living out the events in the stories that I’ve heard. I feel like a corny character in some over-privileged movie, but I really do feel as though I’ve unlocked part of my personal history. I can’t really describe the feeling, but I am obsessed with the picture. I wish there were more photos, old letters, stories, anything, I just want to know more. Perhaps I’m trying to create my own relationship with him in my head. That sounds crazy, though. Maybe it’s just that the photo has made the long-existing idea of this man real to me. Whatever the reason, finally seeing my grandfather’s face has brought me a surprising amount of joy.
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