There is a buoyancy, a radiance in my
father’s eyes. He is looking candidly at
the camera, leaning delicately into my mother as if her shoulder was an antique
pillow he didn’t want to leave an indent on. My mom’s cheek brushes his
forehead as she stares raptly at his face. Her eyes are downcast; her neck
straining as she tilts her head to the left so that her nose is only inches
away from my father's oversized, rectangular glasses. With one arm around his
shoulders and the other gently placed below his chest, she supports him
effortlessly.
The expressiveness in their body
language is no match, however, to the blissful smiles that are drawn across
their faces. My dad’s smile can be described as a lighthearted grin. A grin that wrinkles the corners of his mouth past his nose and rounds his long face. Despite the full-grown handlebar moustache that covers his
upper lip, the top row of his perfectly straight teeth are visible, cushioned
softly by the curve of his bottom one. In all my twenty years of life, I have
yet to see such a carefree smile on my father. My mom’s smile is less exuberant
as his, yet it radiates the same spirit of blithe. Her lips, seen in profile as
she leans intently towards my dad, are pressed together, drawn up in a
half-moon shape. The coyness of her expression is consistent with the intimate,
adoring gaze that she extends towards my father. The contour of her mouth
produces a soft indent in her profile, highlighting her chin and drawing one's focus across the bottom of her delicate face to the natural rotation of her
neck.
This
photograph, taken in the summer of 1972, is faded and covered with permanent
dust marks from the constant exposure it has weathered throughout the years. It
looks nothing like the shiny, fresh picture of my parents taken last summer. Although the photograph is brand new, my parents are
visibly older. My mom has her emotions drawn into her forehead and the sides of
her face like a stick in wet sand, and the hair on my dad’s moustache is now a
full shade of gray. The expressions on
their faces are transformed. My dad still looks at the camera with a twinkly
grin, yet he no longer carries a sense of simplicity in his
appearance. His stare is head on, meeting the camera with purpose and
commitment. My mom’s spirit, while cheerful, also seems somewhat forced, as if
it took a little bit of energy for her to lift her head to the camera and smile. Her
lips, thinner than they were years ago, fade into her olive skin more smoothly.
The corners of her mouth, pulled into a high smile by her circular cheeks,
boldly define the creases in the outer edge of her eyes.
Looking at
these two photographs, I sometimes think that different people are staring back
at me. The couple in the first photo emits a certain sense of peacefulness and
warmth. There is a true innocence beneath their smiles, as if in that moment
nothing in the universe could trouble them. While the couple in the second
photo seems perfectly happy and very much in love, there is a weathered
look to their expression. It is transparent that life's inevitable challenges have taken their toll. Yet, in my mind, the sameness of these
photographs is far more remarkable than the differences of the expressions within
them. The fact that these two people have embraced each other for all this time
outweighs the deep wrinkles and changed body language. My parents’ love
for one another is unconditional. And although the couple in that photograph
from 1972 may be harder to recognize these days, those people are still
inside my parents somewhere. My mother and father have share over four decades
of smiles together, and there is no doubt that their love for each other will hold
steadfast in the years to come, and bring reminders of smiles past as well as
create new smiles for future pictures.
1972
2012
