Old Photos

While cleaning out the office last week (or two weeks ago – I can’t remember) I found a box of old photos that I was supposed to scan in and back up as they are family photos from 30+ years ago. One photo that stood out was my brother’s 7th birthday party at McDonald’s in Edmonton.  I would have been only 2 months old then. (My brother is in the middle on the left hand side of the photo looking at the camera.)


Ty and I spent about an hour or so going through the photos as he stared at a few older ones of me wearing glasses with blonde bangs and brown hair.

In this old box there are photos of myself as a baby, family photos from when we lived in The Netherlands when my dad was stationed with NATO for two years.  Photos of family members who I can’t remember but it reminded me WHY I had the photos. I need to preserve these photos so my children and their future generations don’t forget us when we are all dead and gone.  I know, kind of morbid.

There are neat pictures that represent the clothing style of the 80’s with my Uncle David in REALLY, short, Adidas shorts. I would have been too young to remember the photo being taken or even visiting them but it helps bring me back to simpler times when I was a kid and I had no cares in the world other than having to pee and be hungry.

These photos also reminded me that my kids don’t have it nearly as easy as I did.  They have to worry about blood sugar and nosy neighbours being over protective of MY KIDS and calling me about them playing in the yard with no shoes on.  Really? Who cares if kids wear shoes at all in the summer? The better question really is, why are they looking into my backyard?

Photos can bring back a flood of memories like how angry I was when I had my picture taken as a teenager. The straight grumpy cat face in the Titanic Museum in Halifax and the same grumpy cat at Mt. Rushmore. Even though I dislike my picture being taken, even now, those photos bring back memories of the very few vacations we took.  Most vacations that were taken were with my dad only. My mom would stay home for whatever reason.  I never used to question it.

I have so many photos of Marcus growing up. I hope one day he can look back on them and remember that “THIS Summer was the best summer EVER because XYZ”. Or “Hey! I remember that!”. Maybe I am asking too much of the future fates but you never know what memory a photograph can unlock.

How often do you look back through old photos?


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