My father died at age 94 leaving me with an unfinished conversation--actually, a conversation we never had. After he died, I decided to have the conversation I had always wanted to have with him-- a give and take, gentle and loving. I found, nestled in boxes and desk drawers, photographs of him as a boy, notes to his parents, drawings and all sorts of memorabilia. And, I found pictures of myself as a young child. A conversation began to emerge child to child. Using the tools of a child--scissors and glue--with his now empty house as a backdrop, I wove together, sometimes literally, the photographs.
So, there we are--two kids on a level playing field. Stripped of history and baggage we are not so different. Had we met on the playground we just might have been friends.