My husband went through his wallet today. Erhaps he’s preparing for his gifts of ties, socks, house shoes and a nice black leather wallet I’m interpreting he wants me to select and present to him once again.
There are business cards from people with extra numbers scrawled hurriedly across the backs. He shuffles through these and wonders at the plans and people that once seemed so urgent and how they had diminished to the point of being unrecognizable .
Who is Joe so and so he asks as he tosses the card at me in case I was at the event and can shed the light of recognition on Joe so and so’s place in his wallet. I can not. Toss. Next.
Then comes the memories. The longshoreman slip, first social security card,and a fraternity card (too) and the other usual suspects, license, insurance, military identification. Which I say with emphasis and pride. Put your military identification on that side. I love that he’s a Colonel. Maybe it’s the man in a uniform thing. I don’t know but I know I love it and him.
The last thing he pulled was our photo taken at an event where I had read my poem about Barack Obama getting elected. It’s starting to show signs of wear and tear but we look happy.
It was a good night and the picture captures that moment in time-but it is the lines and signs of wear that tell the real story of years and the tears, laughter joys and pains that mark them. Mark us and make us who we are…as it also boasts of who we were.