Our pictures from the prison visit arrived in the mail today. A friend taught me a few years ago how to recognize them. Tan clothing. Mural background, sometimes a nature scene, sometimes an animal, sometimes the generic Walmart Portrait cloth.
They are the only pictures in existance of my son with his biological father. In 19 months of parenting him and 3 years of foster care, no pictures were taken or saved.
These are priceless. And worth the stress and effort and expense. What they are worth to my son I cannot fathom.
It was not my idea to be in any of the pictures, but Sr. insisted that he wanted me to be. "Family Pictures" he said.
All the pictures we have of him (only 3) were taken in prison over the years. All have the same look. I've come to recognize it. Its the "Incarcerated Mask". No smile. No emotion. You can see an example in the pictures of the three of us.
In person, Sr has the quick and easy smile that I know very well in my boys. His face lights up. His eyes sparkle. In pictures, he simply refuses.
"I look too ghetto when I smile" was his response.
"You just met your son" I replied.
"You're right" he said. And he smiled.
Visit: Day One