The Old Photographs We Almost Didn’t Take Are Now the Ones We Treasure Most
A Jim Croce song brought me back to a photograph of my father at Disneyland. It reminded me why ordinary family pictures can become our most precious possessions.
The Old Family Photographs We Almost Didn’t Take Are Now the Ones We Treasure Most
For anyone who’s ever come across an old photograph and wished they could go back, even for just five minutes, I’ve been listening to Jim Croce’s “Photographs and Memories.” It’s one of those songs that seems to mean even more as we get older. Croce was only 30 when he died in a plane crash in 1973, yet his music still speaks to so many people who have lost someone they love. Whenever I hear that song, I find myself thinking about old family photographs—especially the ones we almost didn’t take, the pictures nobody realized were important at the time.
Maybe you’ll remember someone you haven’t thought about in years. Maybe you’ll think of a day that seemed perfectly ordinary. That’s what happens to me. I think about people sitting around the kitchen table, standing beside the family car, or laughing at something nobody remembers anymore. Those are the photographs I wish we had taken more of.
The Photograph I’d Give Anything to Step Inside
My father died when I was a little boy. I have a photograph of us at Disneyland that means more to me than I could ever explain. I’ve looked at it countless times over the years. Someone else might see a father enjoying Disneyland with his son. I see my dad. I see a day I can never have back. I think about how wonderful it would be to spend another afternoon with him. Nothing special would have to happen. I’d just want to be together. Remember when somebody would pull out a camera during dinner? Half the family would complain. “Oh, come on, not another picture!” Somebody was chewing. Someone else refused to smile. Dad was trying to figure out whether the flash worked. We’d take the picture anyway, then forget about it.
Years later, that same photograph might be the one we’d give anything to step inside. Everyone is there. The room looks exactly as we remember it. We can almost hear the conversation. We’d give anything for five more minutes.
Click! Remember Saturday Night Slide Shows?
Remember buying 35mm slide film? Kodachrome. Ektachrome. You’d load the camera, carefully take your pictures, then wait until the roll was finished. There were only 24 or 36 exposures. You couldn’t check the back of the camera to see whether somebody blinked. When the slides finally came back from processing, every picture was a surprise. Then came slide night. Somebody pulled up that big white screen in the living room. The curtains were closed. The Kodak Carousel projector came out of its case. You’d hear the fan humming as the lamp warmed up. There was that faint smell of warm dust. Someone loaded the circular tray, turned off the lights, then pressed the button.
Click. Your family’s summer vacation was suddenly six feet wide on the wall. Click. Your brother had that ridiculous haircut again. Click. There was Mom, looking younger than you remember her ever being.
“Wait! Go back!” Someone always shouted that. The projector clicked backward. Everybody started talking at once. Somebody remembered the restaurant where you’d eaten that night. Someone else insisted the picture was taken on a completely different vacation. There were arguments about dates, jokes about clothes, stories about relatives. Half the fun was hearing everyone remember things differently. We didn’t call it family history. It was just Saturday night at home.
I wonder how many Kodak Carousel projectors are still sitting in their original cases on garage shelves. How many trays are filled with pictures nobody has seen since the 1980s? Somewhere in those slides might be your parents when they were newly married. Your childhood bedroom. A birthday party you completely forgot. I’d love to hear that familiar click one more time. Later came the camcorders. We recorded birthday parties, Christmas mornings, school plays, family dinners, vacations. Hours of footage. Sometimes the camera kept recording while somebody carried it from one room to another. You’d hear people talking about dinner or asking where somebody had put the car keys. At the time, that footage seemed completely unimportant. Today, hearing those familiar voices might be the best part.
Imagine finding a home movie of your grandparents. They’re sitting outside on a summer afternoon. One notices the camera, then waves. You haven’t seen that wave in decades. Maybe you’ve forgotten exactly how your grandfather walked or the way your grandmother smiled when somebody made her laugh. Yet there they are. If it’s a videotape with sound, you might even hear them speak.
I’d probably watch those few seconds over and over. Wouldn’t you?
The Most Important Photograph Might Be One You Haven’t Seen in 40 Years
I’ve spent 36 years in the photo industry. I’ve handled more photographs than I could possibly count. Yet I still wonder about the people in them. Who was the little girl holding her grandfather’s hand? Whatever happened to the couple standing proudly beside their first house? Did the family gathered around that birthday cake know how much that picture would someday mean?
Every photograph has a story. The person who knows it isn’t always around to tell it.
Here’s what bothers me. We took all those photographs because we wanted to remember. Yet so many haven’t been seen since the day they came back from the photo lab. They’re sitting in envelopes, drawers, albums, slide trays, boxes. Some have been untouched for decades. We still own them. We just don’t look at them anymore. And now the people who could identify everyone in those pictures are getting older. Some are already gone. You might find a photograph of your mother standing beside three women in 1964. You recognize her immediately. But who are the others? Friends from work? Cousins? Neighbors? Maybe your mother told you their names years ago. Maybe you weren’t paying attention.
Think about all the stories we could have saved simply by asking one more question.
Before You Forget, Ask Who’s in the Picture
Spend an afternoon looking through old family photographs with someone who remembers. Don’t worry about organizing everything. Pull out a stack. Ask who the people are. Ask where they lived. Ask why everyone was dressed up that day. Record the answers if you can. You may hear stories you’ve never heard before. You might discover that the person sitting beside you has been waiting years for somebody to ask.
Old prints and slides can be scanned. Home movie reels and videotapes can be digitized. Once those memories are in digital form, they’re easier to watch, copy, and share. Imagine sending an old photograph to somebody who hasn’t seen it in 50 years. Think about the phone call that might follow. “Where on earth did you find that picture?” But don’t forget the stories. A scanned photograph still can’t tell you who everyone is. It can’t explain why your grandfather was laughing or what happened five minutes after the picture was taken. Someone in your family might know. Ask while you can.
Four Questions Worth Asking Before It’s Too Late
Why do old family photographs mean more as we get older? Because the people and places in them become part of a past we can’t revisit. A photograph of an ordinary afternoon can become priceless when someone in it is gone.
What should I ask my parents about our old pictures? Start with names. Ask where each photograph was taken, when it happened, and what everyone was doing. Then ask what they remember about that day. Record their answers. You may be surprised by the stories. Can I still watch our old slides and home movies? Yes, many old slides, film reels, and videotapes can be digitized. You can bring those pictures back into everyday life without needing the original projector or camcorder.
What’s the best thing to do with old family photographs? Look at them with someone who remembers. Identify the people. Save their stories. Make digital copies so relatives can enjoy them too. Keep the originals safe.
If I Could Go Back, I’d Choose an Ordinary Afternoon
I think most of us would make surprisingly simple choices if we were offered a few minutes in the past. We might skip the big celebrations and famous vacations. Maybe we’d go back to a Sunday dinner when everyone was still around the table. We’d listen to the same familiar conversations. We’d hear somebody laughing in the kitchen. We’d see the family dog sleeping under a chair. We wouldn’t need to change a thing. That’s what I find so moving about Jim Croce’s song. He understood how much meaning can live inside a photograph. The person may be gone, but there they are in that little square of paper, looking back at us. Sometimes we smile. Sometimes we cry. Often we do both before putting the photograph away.
I wish I’d known when I was younger how much those ordinary pictures would someday matter. I wish we’d taken more of them. More pictures of our parents doing everyday things. More photographs of grandparents sitting at the kitchen table. More home movies of people just talking. The formal portraits are wonderful, but I’d love to see the little moments nobody thought were worth recording.
If you’ve lost someone, I hope there’s an old photograph of them waiting for you somewhere. Maybe one you’ve never seen. I hope it brings back a memory that makes you smile. If you still have family members who can tell you the stories behind your pictures, please ask them. There’s no reason to wait for a holiday. An ordinary afternoon together might turn out to be something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
One Photograph. Five Minutes. Who Would You Choose?
If you could step inside one old photograph for just five minutes, which one would you choose? Would it be your childhood home? Your parents’ wedding? A family vacation? Maybe a picture of somebody you haven’t seen in 30 years. Tell me who’s in it. Tell me what was happening that day. If you’re comfortable, share the photograph. I’d love to see it. I suspect a lot of other people would too.
I’m going to listen to “Photographs and Memories” again. I’ll probably think about that picture of my father and me at Disneyland. I often do. If I could somehow step back into that photograph for five minutes, I know exactly what I’d want.
Just one more afternoon with my dad.
