Saturday, March 29, 2014

A Picture is Worth...

I just came across an old photograph of my Grandpa and Grandma Wilkins. They are standing on the side of their family home in Santa Ana, California – a house that was also my home from the end of seventh until the beginning of eleventh grade.  I’m really glad to have this picture for all of the memories that it triggers, and, of course, so that I am able to picture my grandparents themselves.  There is one realization, however, that is very disconcerting and that is that  my grandfather, whom I always considered  to be the epitome of an old man,  is actually almost five years younger in this picture than I am as I write this.  It does not help a whole lot, either, that Lora is exactly my grandmother age here. 

One thing that age does give you is perspective.  It seems  that  real life  is almost exactly the opposite of what famously happened in A Picture of Dorian Gray, where the man  was able to keep his young looks for ever, while his picture in the mirror continued to age.  When I look in the mirror and see my aging face with all of its wrinkles, I am always taken by surprise because in the mirror inside of my head  I am still not even half of my age. At least that is how it feels.  I imagine that my grandfather as he sat there also must have thought of himself as much younger than he looks in this picture.  While I don’t believe, as the old saw says, that with old age comes wisdom,  I do think it reveals to you just how much you didn’t realize when you were younger…and perhaps that’s a good thing.

2 comments:

A Pilgrim said...

The difference between the age in our minds and of our bodies definitely does not correlate. I feel almost half my age but when I look into the mirror my wrinkles tell me otherwise. When this photo was taken I was would have just turned two. I think that we were living in this house at the time the photo was taken. Thanks for sharing Mike

EMMLP said...

Ed, we did not actually move into the house on Van Ness St. until the spring of 1959. I remember because I was in seventh grade when Dad left and then had to switch schools.