“Caption This”

Nearly every family owns a box of papers that has been handed down from one generation to the next. The box contains old photographs. Old legal papers. Old newspapers. Interesting stuff.    

Someone in the family is keeping the box in safe storage in their house. If it’s not you, be thankful.

Occasionally the box makes its way out of storage, and time is spent looking at papers no one has yet thrown out. We wonder what year the photos were taken. Sometimes we don’t know the names of the people in the snapshots. We examine the clothing. The jewelry and hairstyles. Their smiles. We discuss family resemblances.

In the case of old black-and-whites, “standing the test of time” takes on new meaning: The photos still exist. They have not yet been tossed out.

Most families do what my family did: Ask the oldest relatives to take a look at the memorabilia and tell us what they know. It’s a great opportunity to hear them speak of their childhood memories. The items are discussed before they go back into storage.

Years later the next generation will open the box and have the same questions. The same frustrations. The same feelings of wishing they knew more.     

In recent years, I’ve become friends with other writers. Many of them are outstanding fiction writers, and I don’t know how they do it. I’ve decided we often don’t recognize our own talent as much as we see the talent in others.

If writing skills “run in the family,” I would point out my mother was a nonfiction writer. She wrote human interest stories as well stories of times gone by.

I found her elementary school composition book where she’d penned a few short fiction stories. I was hoping to share something she’d written, but I came to the conclusion that the talent it takes to write fiction does not run in our family.  

I did find an interesting story my brother had written about Jesus feeding the crowds. With beans and Kool-Aid®. His story may be a reflection of the fact he was growing up in a large family.

My mother’s third-grade composition book is full of words they’d spoken back then. Apparently the word “swell” was in their everyday vocabulary. She wrote about people being “full of the dickens” and “acting a fool.” I remember Mom using those words, but my siblings and I didn’t pick up on her old-fashioned vocabulary.  

As we get older, it can be hard to keep up with the modern-day meaning of words in our own language. Sometimes we need clarification, and young people can interpret for us.

There were times we had to tell Mom the words she was using had changed meaning. She’d say things with great innocence, not knowing her words had become a catchphrase she wouldn’t choose to say. The tables had turned. Her children were telling her to watch her mouth.

My siblings and I loved the way she messed up the punctuation and spelling in her emails. She didn’t bother fixing anything. After she passed away, her daily emails were one of the first things we missed.

We may think children say the funniest things, but they think the same thing about us. Grandparents can say the funniest things.  

According to the Urban Dictionary, “full of the dickens” refers to a young person with a slightly unbridled youthful spirit of adventure. “Acting the fool” means you are “that guy” at a party.

Grandpa Imm left us with seven photos of himself with friends. He was a young man during the Roaring 20s. He’s in these photos with several others, a hundred years ago, having fun on a back country road.  

We forget that our grandparents were once young. They went through their toddler years. Their childhood and teenage years. They once had strong voices. Strong hands. They were capable people.

As the years ticked by, they started behaving more maturely. They dressed as a person their age would dress. They married and started a family. In our eyes, they’ve always been a grandparent. 

My grandfather was in his twenties a hundred years ago. If he were here, I’d ask him to tell me the names of his friends. I’d find out what the laughter was about. I’d ask about the car in the background and who owned the camera they used. I’d ask him about going uptown on Saturday nights.

Grandpa was married to Mary Matilda Smith, who died two months after their wedding day. I found a copy of her obituary which states Mary was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Michael Smith, and she died on Thursday, April 26, aged 20 years, 7 months, and 9 days. She was married to Albert Imm on February 6, 1917. It goes on to state her cause of death was complications from diseases following an attack of the grippe, which is another name for the flu.

I would like to know if Mary Matilda is one of the young ladies in the image.

The photos were developed by The Folsom Studio located at 602-4 Jefferson Avenue in Toledo, Ohio. I wonder if anyone, anywhere, knows who these people are. Perhaps someone will identify them as their grandmother or grandfather.  

I wonder if Grandpa had shown these pictures to Grandma and told her the story. If only he would have known that his granddaughter would find the photos after the turn of the next century. If only he had left some notes on the backs of the photos. If only he had written his nonfiction story.    

Until I find out more, I am left looking at the pictures, writing my own captions, and wondering what the story was. If I should choose to do some fiction writing, I could use the photos as a writing prompt. I’d write about what happened on this day, one hundred years ago, when my grandfather was out acting a fool and having a swell time with his friends.

© Marlene Oxender 2021