“You see the world in black and white
No color or light
You think you’ll never get it right
But you hope to God you might”
~Chris Martin, lyrics taken from ‘Low’
Placing the photograph carefully on the corner of the kitchen table, the man sitting across from me was visibly haunted.
“This was my son’s dog.”
“I am telling you it was impossible to take such a big animal with us when we moved into the city. I had no other choice but to leave that dog with the neighbors.”
“Goddammit all, we were in a bind.”
Picking at one corner of the photo, he inhaled hard and concentrated his gaze on the worn wooden floor.
I knew what was coming next was going to be hard.
“It was too much happening too fast–you just can’t put your kids through that. I should have known better.”
“Things have never been the same for us–it’s been more than 50 years now.”
“Sweet Jesus, how can this be.”
You never know what you’re going to find when you start digging in the past.
For Jim Weaver (not his real name), it was the heartbreaking moment of having to leave his teen-aged son’s dog behind when the banks foreclosed on the family’s farm in 1956.
In what was only the first stop in a life that covered miles of bad road, Jim Weaver and his only son Michael remain estranged.
Black and white photograph, Western NE
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