In the pocket of his blue jeans

I vividly remember my grandfather’s wallet, because tucked inside was a long clear insert with pictures of my grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins, which folded out like an accordion each time the wallet was opened. He had photograph of his mother in there too, all old and yellowed; and a photo of my grandmother, where in it he still swears she’s the most beautiful women he ever knew. My father has some pictures of us kids in his wallet, they’re tucked alongside credit cards; and other than that I can’t recall the last time I was talking to someone about the ones they love and they pulled out a tangible four by two paper card.

Angelica the Mexican girl downstairs, who I am always chatting to, just loves the idea that I have a blog. She’s all curious about my results, and after pulling out her iphone that has a saved total of two hundred and fifty family pictures, still believes it is just not the same as a real photograph. She says, “they’re lost.” The photographs are lost once they are transferred to her iphone is what she is referring to; I find this interesting,since she is so technology prone, but question why. We decide that if you can’t hold it, then it is not really real.

The Bangladesh man working next door assures me that he knows just how his wife and kids look, as he sees them every night, so there just is no purpose in having their photographs lying around. Much less in his wallet- just the idea of this seems to throw him off guard. And his extended family lives so far away, he keeps his memories at bay, and so again, there isn’t much point in having their photographs lying around. Maybe, he humors me, if more people asked them what his family looks like, then he’d reconsider his memorabilia-free ways.

A Korean man, in his mid forties who has been living in New York City long enough to lose his accent, has two photographs in his wallet. Both of them of his mother, where she is looking especially beautiful, but he promises this is how she looked every day. In the photographs his mom looks no older than my age, but he is not sure of the details; the only thing he is sure of that they have been whatever wallet he has carried since he was my age. The photographs have curled yellowed edges and one has small rip sneaking up from the bottom, but I can tell he has treated them kindly over time. The other man working aside him is twenty four, born and raised in New York , and just laughed when I asked him for a picture in his wallet. He replied with, “You mean phone?” and then motioned to the Korean man, “but of course he does.” The young man explains that the picture on his phone of his mom (yes, both of these men immediately pull out photos of their mom) holds the same importance as a real photograph. I can tell the Korean man disagrees, but he won’t articulate why. I suppose I implore him to tell me exactly why it is that, to me his photographs mean so much more; but he evades making any inferences. I ask: is it a generational thing? A technology thing? A cultural thing? Why is it special that you keep these two treasured photographs in the back of your wallet, everyday in your pocket, this simple thing that is just is not so common anymore? “It is a human thing,” he tells me.