Kwesi Amoah-Forson
As I stare at this photograph I still recognize those in it even after all this time. It’s a picture of myself and my brother with my grandparents. It seems like a sunny ,probably humid day, you can see the sunlight seep through the branches into the camera lens. Light brown dirt, like sand at our feet would rise in the air and get in our eyes as we played outside. My grandfather and I aren’t smiling in the photograph where as my brother and grandmother are. I’d like to say that the reason behind this is that I idolized my grandfather and in this picture I wanted to imitate him, but in all honesty I was a nervous and quiet kid growing up and this picture portrays that aspect of my personality.
It’s actually kind of humorous how this picture encompasses perfectly people’s perception of my brother and I, each on either end of the spectrum. Myself, a quiet, reserved individual and him with a huge smile on his face, outgoing and ready to talk to anyone. Our personalities in a nutshell.

In the corner of the picture you can just see the front of my grandparent’s house, which my brother and I spent much of our time sitting directly in from of the air conditioner, stomping on ants, and swatting at mosquitoes.
The shoes I am wearing in the pictures are a pair of skateboarding shoes I had wanted in 6th grade and at the time I felt as though I was the only one amongst my friends that didn’t have a pair. Eventually my parents gave in, as they often did and bought a pair of them for me. This is my number one clue in deciding when this picture was taken.
My grandmother is wearing a hat that seems fairly new in the picture but is now extremely tattered to the point that she can hardly keep it on their head but still she insists on wearing it nearly every day.
That hat I remember her wearing every Sunday as she dragged our family to church. Back then it was rare to see more than ten people during service, but you were sure to see Iva and her grandkids in attendance. This a small victory, one you will never hear of, “faith has the power to move mountains” or at least is able to keep an old church’s heart pumping in a small dusty town. The church still only as an average of five people that are there each Sunday, but you are sure to see 86 year old Iva in attendance. Through death, changes in location, and relatives not talking to each other I often think of these times and the feelings I was aware of even in the 6th grade. Despite the number of people there, the faith of those in the building is what kept the church going, common belief, common purpose. I learned and kept this as I’ve grown and. Now when I see my grandmother and her beat up old hat, the sun gleaming through it’s holes like the branches in this picture I am reminded of her faith. I would like to think we were on our way to church in this picture but I doubt it considering the clothes my brother and I are wearing.”Casual attire is not church attire”. When my grandmother is gone, when visual images in my mind are hard to come by, I hope this picture will posess the same power as her tattered hat.
I believe this is the last time I went to Arkansas, my grandparents started coming up to Washington over the summer to visit. As my brother and I grew older Arkansas lost its foreign appeal . My parents also never went back until my grandfather died. I wonder if whoever took this photograph ever regrets that they are not forever recorded in this picture. I know the story of those found in my picture, who they are, what the future holds for them even after the picture was taken. I find comfort in that security.
While looking at this photograph I can’t help but think about love for the family, true love for them even if you don’t get to spend as much time with them as you wish. We are far away but this picture always brings us closer together, if only in my mind and that is good enough for me.