...Another Dad's Treasure - Part 2

...then as the day wore on and we actually started to see carpet beneath the rubble, I secretly began to dread The Trunk, and what we would find within. The Trunk is a large, old fashioned steamer trunk that I picked up at an estate sale about 20 years ago. As I began to collect more daughters and more memories that I wanted to keep for them, I dedicated The Trunk to that task. Of course, in the timeless fashion of so many projects begun with the best intentions, I had not actually gone through it’s contents since I went solo five years ago and now I was concerned about old memories, old lives, old wounds...

We broke for lunch, PB&J sandwiches, string cheese, grapes and pink lemonade (Chef Eden presiding, you see) and complemented ourselves on the fine job we had done.
“So, what’s next?” Marina asked, knowing the answer but wondering at my hesitation.
“The Trunk. It’s all that’s left.” I responded grimly, trying to keep a brave face in front of the children. Don’t think they bought it…

Fast forward one hour.

We are going through hundreds of pictures. Some are in albums, most are not. Digital photography predates these photos (except the grainy black and white ones on my childhood) but, Luddite that I am; I used a film camera for all of these.

My daughters looked exactly alike until about age 3, I notice. Marina and Eden, up to about age 7. Most of the infant pictures are of Sam because she was the first child and as parents of multiple children know, the picture occasions seem to get fewer with each succeeding newborn.

Milestone moments in their young lives. First born. First baths. First steps. First pony rides. First school days. So many birthdays, play-in-the-park days, swim days with pontoon-like floaties, swim days too-big-for-floaties-now-Dad. Watch me dive. Watch me Daddy! Singing with various choirs. Singing solos, center stage, all by themselves.
Some of daughters with Dad. Fewer of daughters with Mom.
None of Mom and Dad together.
The camera knew, it just couldn’t say.

I guess I got some dust in my eyes, maybe, so I left the girls to go through them.

“Yes, you can pick some out for your scrapbook.”

“Sure they had color cameras when I was a boy, we just couldn’t afford one.”

“Yes, if you want to. I think getting them into proper albums would be a fine idea. After all, they will be yours someday.”

I think, “No, I don’t really need to see the rest of them right now, m’loves. I hold each moment where they will never get lost or damaged and I can treasure them forever, and do…”