The New York Times – by
An aging expatriate in France, I recently started sending family memorabilia to American relatives. I easily dispatched silver, jewelry and war medals, but I struggled with those fake-leather photo albums that showed my dashing father, then sober, beaming at his pudgy grandchild; my proud mother, eyes frightened, stiffly posing at a poker table with my father’s leering military buddies; my 6-year-old self, refusing to look at the camera on the first Christmas after my parents’ divorce. Decades later, staring dumbly at this catalog of distress, I somehow softened, seeing only clumsiness. We really had done our best. — Melissa Beckham
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