The choices we make

This is a blip of a photo, (I know, how lame). It was taken in the mid 1980s I believe, and it’s a photo of, left to right, me, my dad, my great grandpa, and my grandpa.

Its a photo I cherish because of who they are to me. They are my history, my lineage, my story or context. I am the only one left still alive from those four. But the choices they made still effect me and my children to this day.

I am deeply gladdened by their decisions and it makes me very aware that my choices to this day will effect my kids and my grandchildren. I want to do well by them, and for them.

And I suppose I am a little surprised that I’m next up to bat. I know many families where three of the men in the photo would still be alive. But there you go. How did I sneak into my late 50s with everyone but me knowing that?

These are the deep questions of life.

But I miss them sometimes, deeply. Especially at times like this past weekend when our own son turned 30, and has a little girl of their own.

How did I ever get to be the oldest man in the photo?