Neil O. Nelson

A Facebook friend this week commented on the fact that he has boxes of pictures nobody wants.  Trouble is, he doesn’t want them, either. Not anymore, anyway. 

I can relate. Most of my pictures are in photo albums; nobody has looked at them in ages, either, or wants them, for that matter. 

Family pictures in boxes that never made the albums are no less precious, no less important in the passage of time. Important to whom, is the question. 

Not my two daughters, understandably. They never knew my parents, their grandparents; their two aunts they know and still see on occasion; pictures of sisters Sue and Jenny as teens and younger are cute and so are the shots of me in grades 1 and 12. The one picture of me in the Navy in the depths of an aircraft carrier off Vietnam isn’t cute or colorful or hardly worth saving or framing. 

Oh, there are the pictures of me in an Olongapo bar in the Philippines, on a mountain top in Switzerland and outside a cafe in Madrid, but I seriously question if they would be anything more than a passing interest to daughters Tena and Cassie and their girls. 

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