This morning while looking at the few old pictures that exist of us at the last house we lived in with my father, I feel confusion. One picture shows me and two of my sisters looking like ragamuffins. Because the picture is black and white, it is hard to tell if it is late fall or early spring. I think it may be spring because it almost looks like there is a tulip in the back ground – or it could be trash – it is hard to tell with old grainy black and white pictures.
One sister is dressed in long pants and a warm sweater. Her hair is done in braids. The rarity here is that her hair is done. I am dressed in a warm sweater and short shorts. My hair is all over the place. My little sister is dressed in a short sleeve summer shirt and shorts. Her hair has been cut into a short pixie cut – so done or not, she looks adorable. We all look happy because we are smiling for the camera. I wonder which one of us is dressed appropriately for the weather because our outfits are all over the place weather-wise.
I’m sure most of us could produce pictures from our childhoods where we look like we dressed ourselves in the dark. I have many memories of being embarrassed by my clothing and hair. I do have a few pictures where I look nice. We (my sisters and I) joke when we look at old pictures: “It must have been your day to have your hair done.”
I have another picture of this house that shows mostly the house. Two of my sisters and I look like we were included in the picture as an afterthought. All three of us are wearing cute dresses, and all of us have our hair done. We must have been going somewhere important. We are smiling for the camera. We look like a “normal” family.
Another picture shows my beautiful parents. This one must have been taken by my oldest sister because the composition is pretty good. She shows the house, but my parents are the focus of the picture. They are quite the dashing pair. Dad is tall, slim, and very distinguished looking. Mom is slender, tiny, and blond in this picture. They look happy and in love. My how the camera lies. I believe they were in love, but I know they were not happy.
Dad looks so normal, that his image betrays the horror I remember. He tells us we (my sisters and me) that we are crazy. That the things we remember never happened – yet if they never happened why do all of us remember these horrible things. He doesn’t deny the drug and alcohol abuse – in fact he brags about it, but he denies being sexually and physically abusive to us. By the looks of this picture one could believe him. He doesn’t look like a man that hangs out with hippies or abuses his daughters. He is clean cut in his neatly buttoned collared shirt that is tucked into belted slacks. One could believe he is the sane one and the rest of us are trash.
I’ve heard it said that pictures don’t lie, but I think they do. A picture is only one tiny millisecond of a person or thing. It doesn’t show what is going on inside the mind. The phrase, “Smile for the camera,” takes that truth and sugar coats it for our posterity. No one looking at these pictures would guess at the truth that happened inside that house.
