I scanned this photograph before it could crumble any further. It's scratched out like a lotto ticket. Looks like a mug shot. It's a passport photo on the way out of Hawaii, as I can guess from the patterned shirt.
The farther away I get from the last time saw my parents, the more gaps I'll have to fill in about what they were really like. It becomes harder to remember what's real and what I've imagined. Did they eat ice cream? Yes. Liked staying up late? Think so. Were they rebellious teenagers? Not sure. I'm just making up stories as I go along.
The longer they are gone, the more I'm adding to their myth. They are compliant in my vision of them. They coddle me, are fun-loving and spontaneous. They dress up in stylish clothes and travel the world. They are always young and good looking. The act of remembering becomes inventing.