One of my favourite memories as a kid is being at my grandparent’s farm and going through their old photos.
There were heaps of them, with hundreds pictures of my dad, aunties and uncles growing up. Every memorable moment was documented in an album with captions written on the back of each photo and a date listed next to it. These were the definition of captured memories. It’s the main way that I learnt about my family. About the funny things dad did when he was little and I’d find myself asking my grandma questions about their travels. There were albums filled with family Christmas’ from the 70s, pictures of my uncle with long hair and my dad when he actually had hair.
One specific photo I remember most was of mum and dad at a Christmas barbeque — it was one of the first times he’d brought mum to meet his family and friends. They were standing together smiling, mum was wearing tight jeans and a midriff and whenever we saw the photo we’d ask dad about it. It was a scandalous outfit at the time but he would recount how jealous all of his friends were.