The old photograph of my grandmother's wedding sits on the back of my shelf. It was an arranged wedding, yet my grandmother took great pride in it anyway. She didn't much like my grandfather, but somehow she learned to love him.
I found this photograph out with the trash one day. My mother said she couldn't have it in her house any longer. She wasn't fond of her father or the childhood upbringing she got from him.
"It's already enough I have his eyes," she would say. "I don't need his old photographs, too."
I would nod and pretend to agree with the woman whenever she would go on one of her rants, but secretly I was fascinated with my grandfather and would give anything to meet him.
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