At first I thought the little scrap of paper in my front yard was one of those notices the lawn-care people stick in the neighbor’s yard when they spray for bugs. It’s about the same size as one of those.
But when I turned it over, there was the surprise you see above.
I don’t know who these happy kids are, where they were or what year someone got them all to sit still long enough to shoot their picture. Based on the rolled-up pant legs of the boy on the far left, I’m guessing mid 1950s, early ’60s? Based on the brick stoop, somewhere in the Northeast?
There’s a little clue on the back side of the photo, where the words “Agfa Brovira” appear in faint print. Ansel Adams used this soft, creamy paper from Agfa, a German company, to make some of his most famous prints in the 1930s, according to a quick internet search.
I’m reasonably sure Ansel Adams himself didn’t take the photo. He was mostly interested in landscapes, not kids on stoops with balloons. But it’s not cheap paper, and somebody spent some money to preserve this glossy memory.
That’s all I know about it. The rest is a mystery from my front yard.
My neighbor next door – whom my wife noticed cleaning his garage the weekend before – maybe misplaced it in the process?
“Nope, nobody I know,’’ he said, studying the photo closely. “Definitely not one of mine.’’
Not one of mine, either. But I was sorry to see this happy scene – complete with balloons! – in such bad shape. Like someone drove over it a couple of times on an asphalt road and maybe even sprayed it with bug spray, based on the punctures, perforations and discolorations overall.
This had been someone’s treasure once, I thought. And for reasons I can’t explain, I would have felt bad throwing it away. Sad to be the one to bring the party to an end.
So I pressed on to the next neighbor, across the street.
“Nope, nobody I know,’’ he said, calling his wife over to take a look too.
“I don’t know anyone here, but they look happy,’’ she said. “They make me smile – thank you, at least, for sharing and letting us take a look.”
I went on to the neighbor next door to the neighbor next door.
“What a sweet picture!’’ she said. “But, no, I don’t know anyone here.”
On and on I went on my street, door to door, or catching up with my neighbors as they walked the dog or pushed kids about the same age as some of the kids in the picture in strollers. Until I’d made contact with about as many people as were in the picture.
“Not one of ours,’’ the neighbors all said.
“How sweet!’’ the people walking dogs all said.
“Thank you for sharing it!’’ the people pushing little kids in strollers all said.
Still I went on, the little scrap of paper in my hand. Until I became that guy in the neighborhood. The guy trying to reunite a family photo with a family.
Which is not such a bad thing, I decided. We hear so much about how we’re divided and isolated from one another, it’s not so bad to look for ways to reconnect with neighbors. Even if we don’t recognize anyone in the picture. Even if they don’t look anything like us. Even if the paper’s punctured and perforated and maybe even sprayed like nobody cared.
I couldn’t just throw that away.
So I decided to keep it. And unless someone here recognizes long-lost family or friends, and claims them at the email address below, I’ve decided to adopt them and put them in with my own family albums. The people I recognize with people I don’t.
I may never know who they are, where they were or what they were doing, but they deserve a good home. Balloons and all.
I’m still that guy.
