Life on Celluloid

Recently, I read a blog where the author did not want to remember the past and I remember thinking what a shame it was to have that point of view. Despite the pain and sadness of whatever the memory, the past should never be swept away and unacknowledged. I know first hand, because for years, I was running from that very outlook  – leaving my childhood, my family and shamefully, some of the memories far behind me. I let the appreciation of my relatives fall silently by the roadside as I reinvented myself over and over again. As I’ve gotten older, my connection to the past has been one of almost zealous proportions. I’m like a fresh paper towel, absorbing every story I can find before being ringed out and seeking more. I’ve hunted for pictures of relatives, asking family members to id the black and white photographs, picking their memories for the sliver of stories they can recall.

It’s come into focus for me even more as recently, all the home movies my father recorded when were young were transferred to DVD. Over twenty reels of 8mm film capturing birthdays, holidays, weekend barbeques, walks in the parks, trips to amusement parks and more are now there, not only for me, but also for generations to come.

As I watch, I can still smell the cake that my mother is cutting at my fifth birthday and the cacophony of voices from my cousins, although silent on film, still echo in my ears. The scene envelops me and is my own personal time machine to the past. The movie starts a dialogue with my brother. Does he remember this day – that present? We laugh at how crazy Julia was always in the same seat, smoking a nasty cigarette in the kitchen at every celebration and the sheer size of my mother before her thyroid was under control. And then my aunt – my godmother – with her glamorous up do and sparkling earrings, eating cake and laughing with everyone at the table. And, then, the person I’ve been waiting to see – my father’s mother. She sits at the end of the table, smiling, laughing and grabbing my arm. Her touch is as real for me now as it was then. I watch the recording of our walk in the park, wishing I could recall the feel of her hand in mine as she guides my little stubby legs across the grass.

For anyone who’s met me or read my stories, it’s no secret how much I loved my grandmother. She was pure and simply, my entire world. In 1974, ovarian cancer ravaged her body and took her from me - from all of us - when I was only eight years old. But today, I can look at her smile and see her as if she were waiting for me in my old home, and despite the sadness – I am filled with comfort and happiness.

I was hesitant to show the films to my aunt – my grandmother’s youngest sister – thinking that perhaps it would make her too sad seeing all the people who are no longer with us. But today, when we talked, she was as happy to have seen the movies as I.

“You looked just like Dom when you were born, “ she laughed referencing the fact that I resembled my father’s oldest brother.  For sure, there is no mistaking that I am a Tella.

Together we remarked at the beauty of her sister-in-law Angie and reminisced about her own 25^th Wedding Anniversary movie. There was no distant longing in her voice, just a tilt of joy at seeing everyone who has made our family so special.

I spent some time this weekend watching the movies, escaping into the past and letting all that love and happiness wash over me. Perhaps it has been growing older in a state far from the rest of my family that has taught me all of this. Although California is the place I belong, where I came from and who made me the person I am is just as important in my life. To not want to look back and remember would be a disservice to everyone in those movies. I’m grateful to my father for everything he has taught me and for spending countless hours documenting the good times we all shared.

I’m more than ever, so in love with my family, and today, I embrace the generations before and the ones that have followed. When I get lonely and want to see the love that was all around me, I can watch these movies. And somehow, as crazy as it may sound, I know my grandmother is still right beside me. No matter where I walk or if my still stubby legs will falter, although I cannot feel her, she is still holding my hand.