I love old family photos, don't you? You could tell the history of the world, I think, simply by looking at family photos (or portraits). There are, for instance, a million pictures of my brother, sister, and me when we were kids, all lined up like we are in the picture above. Usually, I'm making some sort of sour face, my sister isn't paying attention, and my brother looks like he's up to something. I'll let you make your own inferences.
I love that family photos can remind you of all of the good things you've had in your life. The photos of me, Carolyn, and Patrick remind me that I am incredibly lucky to have a family that loves and supports me. (Also, they like when I make them stuff, or at least they tell me they do. Since I like crafting things, it makes for a good arrangement.) Growing up, I was mortified when my dad made me pose for pictures in public--my first day as a crossing guard in grade 5, in front of the busiest building at my university during Frosh Week--but looking back, I can appreciate it was his way of recording the moments I made him proud.
Mostly, though, I love that they're a way of remembering things you might have otherwise forgot.
Like how, no matter how sophisticated and worldly my grandmother was, she was always ready with love and hugs for her grandchildren.
And how, even when we were young, my brother and sister were my best friends.