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Family Portrait
My mother, who is seventy years old, recently sent me a photograph of herself that I had never seen before. While cleaning out the attic of her Florida home, she came across a studio portrait she had taken about a year before she married my father. This picture of my mother is about a twenty-year-old girl and the story behind it has fascinated me from the moment I began to consider it.
The young in the picture has a face that resembles my own in many ways. Her face is a bit more oval than mine, but the softly waving brown hair around it is identical. The small, straight nose is the same model I was born with. My mother’s mouth is closed, yet there is just the slightest hint of a smile on her full lips. I know that if she had smiled, she would have shown the same wide grin and down-curving “smile lines” that appear in my own snapshots. The most haunting feature in the photo, however, is my mother’s eyes. They are an exact duplicate of my own large, dark-brown ones. Her brows are plucked into thin lines, which are like two pencil strokes added to highlight those fine, luminous eyes. I’ve also carefully studied the clothing and jewelry in the photograph. Although the photo was taken fifty years ago, my mother is wearing a blouse and skirt that could easily be worn today. The blouse is made of heavy eggshell-colored satin and reflects the light in its folds and hollows. It has a turned-down cowl collar and smocking on the shoulders and bellow the collar. The smocking (tiny rows of gathered material) looks hand-done. The skirt, which covers my mother’s calves, is straight and made of light wool or flannel. My mother is wearing silver drop earrings. They are about two inches long and roughly shield-shaped. On her left wrist is a matching bracelet. My mother can’t find this bracelet now, despite the fact that we spent hours searching through the attic for it. On the third finger of her left hand is a ring with a large, square-cut stone.
The story behind the
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