Instead of going to bed after I got out of the shower this morning, I dressed and went upstairs to check a website. When I finished, I came back downstairs where my father was sitting at the dining room table organizing some photos. He'd been engaged in this project since yesterday. He stopped me and said I should take a look. He proceeded then to show me pictures of the few relatives I'd met (a great-aunt, my grandfather, a great-uncle) and several whom I hadn't. My father, as it turns out, had numerous aunts and above them, there were even more. Added to that were the people whom these relatives had remarried or dated after their previous marriage had gone sour. From what I could tell, there was little to no animosity towards these second (or third) spouses and significant others. Even my own father was fond of his step-father, his mother's husband after she and my grandfather divorced. In fact, my father liked his step-father better. I met him 1992; aside from his somewhat rundown apartment in Harlem, all I really remember about him was that he was a Yankees fan. I'd also met my great uncle Carlos that year. We visited him at his house on Long Island, of which there are a few pictures. He was eighty years old at the time. Carlos died this year and my father went back to New York probably for the last time; definitely so if he has anything to say about it) to deal with a few things and collect a few belongings. My uncle had a few bits of jewelry and a few peices of very old money, among other things The engagement ring was noteable. It's white gold with a diamond solitaire; I may have plans for that. My father tells me that when he gives all of this to me, he doesn't care what I do with it. That's good to know, but I don't imagine I'd sell any of it. The things with the least sentimental value probably aren't worth the trouble to sell and the things with the most are too nice.

There are some very old pictures in the album. A few were taken when my grandfather was, from all accounts, a teenager. As I type, my father is sixty-four. You figure it out.

A number of men in my family were in the military. My father was in the Navy and various other relativeswere in the Army or the Navy. My 40 year-old half-brother is, if I rmember correctly, a commander in the Navy. I've never met him, though my father tells me he and his family are curious about me. I think I have a feeling when that will finally happen and I don't think I want to think about now. Still, there are pictures in the album. I've no idea if he has any of me.

My great grandfather on my father's mother's side was a minister in the AME church. In the album there's a newpaper clipping of his obituary. His mother was white, though there's no picture of her. The picture of his father showed that he was very dark. Moreso than just about everyone else after him, direct bloodline or otherwise.

There are a lot of photos. A fair number of them are of my father, ranging from age ten to the present day.A few of his favorite photos of my mother are present, as well as my sister and myself. It brings a certain kind of perspective, looking at all this stuff. Certainly gives a new angle on the idea of having children. Not that my mind has changed on that, of course, but there's something to be said for passing down stories and traditions and whatnot. Family can give you a personal perspective on history, which I find somewhat fascinating. Of course, I'm sure I'd have little use for these people were any of them still alive, so I probably shouldn't romanticize all of this too much. My hyprocrisy does have limits, after all.

Still, it was very Ken Burns while it lasted.