A photo of my father

A photo of my father stares back at me. It is dated " Timmy 1938 outside of Bones"

The writing on the back of the photograph is in red. It is in my mother's distinctive handwriting, though more shaky than usual. Daddy is in the middle, clearly the center of focus. He is relaxed, happy, handsome and smiles earnestly at the fellow to his right. I don't know who this man is, he looks attractive, though I can only see his profile. He sits cross legged on the grass with his wing tip shoes and dress pants. The look between my father and this unknown fellow is of total connection and comfort; a kind of "yes, yes!, I get you, I'm finding this story funny, revealing, maybe even racy." Then to the left of my father is another fellow, also sitting cross legged on the grass, with a big white cloth hanky, the kind they all used to use.

My dad looked so happy, so in the moment and in his element. How handsome and unfettered he looked. Before the war, before mum, before four children and all the weight that carried. Before Morgan Guaranty Trust Company and conforming to a job he was not suited for. This day, this moment, in this photograph looks like one of the best times in his life. At Yale, before the war, in 1938.