Anyone seeing this picture for the first time would think nothing of it. It isn’t what it seems.
As children, the four of us kids spent the bulk of our childhood on a street in a cozy suburb of Buffalo on Forest Stream Drive. It was a great time and place to grow up – safe streets where we rode our bikes forever and everywhere, a playground nearby, dogs, pools and kids all over the place. When I look back, it is the picture I have of my childhood.
When Mom passed away in February of 2013, my sister, who is 1 1/2 years younger than me, came to visit when we had a great big memorial service for Mom in June. It was such a deal – music, video, photo displays and lots of Mom and Dad’s friends to share memories with that day.
Since Kath was visiting for a while, we decided to go and see the “old homestead” and spend some time in our childhood hometown. I don’t know what we were expecting, really. I figured we would have a relaxing day in the summer, see some of our old haunts, and maybe have lunch at a bar on Main Street that used to be a more run down “townie” bar that is now a trendy spot. She is a bit bolder than I am so what happened next probably didn’t surprise anyone who knows her.
As we drove down our old street, which is a circle or a “court”, I went really slow so we could rubber neck for a good long time. The place looked great. We weren’t exactly the neatest group of kids and with the toys, balls and bikes typically sprawled out all over our yard, and with the weeds we didn’t get to removing, our yard was once referred to as “Resurrection City” by one of our neighbors. Those of you who don’t remember the late 1960s may need a refresher to get the slam intended in this moniker. Here you go:
On a weekend in 1968, men and women were arrived from all over the country to Washington, D.C., as part of the Poor People’s Campaign, the last movement organized by the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., before his assassination. Rev. King wanted to bring together poor people of all races to make visible the plight of poverty. It was not to be a sit-it, but a live-in. They built “Resurrection City” on the mall on Washington of tents and makeshift boxes as homes.
You can see some actual photos of the real Resurrection City here.
Of course we needed to go around the circle one more time to really stare the place down and drink in all the times we had there, so we went on for round 2. Of course the homeowner now happened to be stepping out into the driveway just as we were pointing and gawking at full speed.
Of course, he was a bit taken aback. (In retrospect, maybe he thought we were pointing at him?) He wore a look of concern and curiosity, which is understandable. So my sister told me in no uncertain terms to “Stop”. So I did and she yelled a friendly greeting out the window and said, “We used to live here and we just wanted to see our childhood home.”
That did it.
Mr. K was so gracious. He insisted we come in, and he gave us the grand tour. The house was beautiful and the family had even left some of Mom’s old touches in place – her stenciling on the banister, for example. It was a special trip back in time for us that afternoon. We took photos the whole time intending to show them to our brother and father, but when we got outside, almost ready to go, it hit me.
I had been working on the video for my mother’s memorial service and one photo had (and always has) made me stare at it. We used to hang out on the front step. Mom used to have a cigarette there sometimes before she gave it up. We would often sit there and watch the world go by, especially if a car went around the circle slowly. Either they were lost or they were looking at a house for sale. You usually didn’t get on our street unless you lived there or were visiting someone. Anyway, it was a usual perch for us.
I asked if that was the original step into the front door, or had any work been done on it. It was the original.
I asked my sister to sit next to me and Mr. K took our photo. Then I got up and took a photo of the blank step. Yes, the blank step. He thought I was a bit crazy but I already knew what I wanted to do.
We finally left and thanked this most gracious couple for indulging us that day, and we enjoyed the remainder of the great day at the redone “townie” bar for lunch, at Island Park where we used to smoke and practice swearing when we said we were going to “Book Club”, and driving around the old streets we used to ride our bikes on.
When my sister and I returned home, I went right to work. I was compelled to finish what I had in mind.
What amazes me was how the natural pose that we both struck fell into place in the “re-making” of the photo of all three of us. My sister’s hand was on my leg in our photo. When I put Mom between us, her hand fell exactly on top of Mom’s hand – no retouching involved. We were leaning into each other, and it was a natural lean that worked with Mom placed between us as well, in the compilation photo of all three of us.
I use Photoshop all the time for work, so erasing the background around Mom was Step #1 of the “re-make” photo.
I then removed the background around me and my sister and changed our photo together and the photo I had taken of the blank step into a black and white too. That was Step #2.
The last part of my relighting of this memory was to make our sizes match and place us all on the new photo I had taken of the blank step – Step #3.
After I had finished, I made copies for myself, my sister and my father. My sister was heading back to stay with Dad for a couple of days so she would give him his copy. I wanted to be there to see his face but my timing has never been that good so I had to settle for my sister’s account of his reaction. It was a good accounting.
Dad keeps this little pictorial example of a “relighting” in his room now. I have mine on my kitchen hutch and on my computer.
Maybe this was the first step of relighting? I wonder what Mom thinks of it?
Oh Patty, this is awesome! It takes me back to going over to play with you guys when I was at my Nana’s. This is such a cool thing you and Uncle Bob are doing.