Their obsolescence makes their stale, dry smell that much stronger.
Black and white images from long ago dumped in a makeshift box – all from well before I was ever given a thought.
Most are bent at the edges, cracked, and faded. Some have indecipherable, blue-inked, cursive descriptions that long ago bled through to the front.
Others just have stand alone dates inscribed at the bottom.
So many beach scenes (Coney Island perhaps?). Young women seemingly more appropriately dressed for an early spring stroll down a busy Brooklyn street than preparing for a quick romp in the ocean.
So many more with groups of young, virile men. Usually with a single leg propped up against the fender of a massive road hog likely well past its prime by the time the image was captured. Thick, wavy black hair ruled the day, only to later turn neat, and straight, and white before completely disappearing.
In their obsolescence, there appears such a stunning innocence. But they all knew better, even if we cannot in the looking back. They had been prepared for the hard work ahead because their world was just as tough, just as mean, as any that came before it.
And so they taught us, the best they could.
And so we learned from them, the best we could.
But we won’t pass down boxes stuffed with old images, ones you need to organize, and agonize over, and store away.
No, we’ll pass along handfuls of digits that never really existed, all of which can be deleted by a single tap.
And of course, they will be.
It all somehow seems so appropriate.
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
Image Credit: Pixabay