The fireworks went on around here late into last night; I think I fell asleep a bit before midnight when they stopped. Just now, on a walk around the neighborhood, a little girl of Middle Eastern descent, probably 8, asked me "Did you a have a nice Fourth of July?"
She is the oldest of three kids in the family that operates my nearest corner store. One of the really nice things about San Francisco is our many corner stores. Mom & Pop operations, every one of them.
Years ago, when this girl was much younger, I took a family photo for them and printed it out. They did not have a camera of their own back then. They were so thrilled to have a photo of themselves.
It often strikes me how much like my own (immigrant) life their lives are. We are all first-generation Americans.
Both of my marriages were to long-time American families, blue-bloods I think they are called. My ex-wives had history in this country, not all of it pretty.
But all of us, whoever we are, want to be seen in this life. Maybe that is what makes cameras such powerful tools. They capture us, or at least a likeness of us. That brings me back to yesterday's post about my ex-GF. She loved to be photographed, here, there, anywhere.
That is another story.
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