Father

My grandfather is showing me pictures of his dad.

He is a thin but strong looking man--his fortitude is evident in his chin, which has a pronounced cleft. His eyes have a piercing solemnity, but his lips betray the slightest happiness. Probably glad he's married to the woman my grandpa shows me next. "My mom was a good lookin' gal." Agreed.

Apparently he was in the service--which, who knows. Some sort of infantry. The next picture I see of my great grandfather could be a different man. His face is hard with a concrete scowl. Even more striking is the breadth of his shoulders. He likely just got done throwing horses over a wall, and is frustrated that there's nothing else to throw.

The most interesting thing about this experience is my grandpa. He's a relatively unsentimental, telling an occasional wry joke, and only getting angry when dinner's late or if you forget to turn off the lights. But there's a sense of respect and admiration for his parents that I catch as he handles the photographs; something I wish I could share with him except that I never knew them.

I don't think I've ever witnessed him bear such reverence for someone.