You see something different when you look at people from behind. You can see into your own past.
For years now, I have taken pictures of people from behind them. Sometimes it’s when I’m walking the dog, or when I’m walking down the block going home, and especially, anywhere I’m with my daughters. Especially with them.
This week I’m sharing three vignettes that illustrate the treasures this view can yield, sometimes years later.
Story 1: The man and his dog
He was just an old man with a dog.
This dog was younger than the one from earlier in our relationship— a relationship between two people who walk their dogs at the same time each day.
The older dog was a collie whose beauty was obscured by an unkempt coat. I assumed he had a hard time cleaning her. They were both getting on in years.
One day he came to the park without her.
It was clear what had happened. People who lose their dogs to age or illness frequently continue their daily walks solo. Some appear months later with a new dog.
This was the case with this guy. I ran into him on my block, a short distance from the park, with this new pup.
“Oh, you have a new puppy,” I observed.
“Yeah, got him from the shelter,” he offered, with what seemed like the slightest hesitation.
He must have known we didn’t have that much to say to each other. “Well, congratulations” I mumbled, clearly providing him with a graceful exit.
I watched him walk away and saw how much lesser of a burden his new dog seemed to be. Smaller and lighter, younger and quicker.
I tried to engage them in conversation a few times after that. The last time was when I noticed the camera around his neck.
“Wow, I see you’re taking pictures now!”
“Yeah.”
“What kinds of things are you shooting?”
“Oh, this and that,” he shared.
“Well, enjoy!” I said and took my leave.
The last time I saw him was from behind. The cap, the sweater draped around his shoulders, and even the dog indicated a sense of style I hadn’t noticed before. When he turned every so slightly, I could see he was still wearing the camera around his neck.
He stopped in front of a small garden of flowers and just stared.
I made no effort to speak with him. The last few times I tried to catch his eye, he showed no sign of recognizing me.
So, I just held Shadow in place and watched him looking at the garden. I thought he might take a picture.
But he just stood there, looking.
And Shadow and I stood there , watching him and his pup, remembering all the years behind us that led to this moment.
Story 2: These two
I used to live my life in front of these two; leading them. But now, most of the time, I’m somewhere behind them.
My daughters, as soon as they were able to walk without holding my hand, held each other’s and walked ahead of me. They don’t hold hands as much, but they do walk in front of me most of the time, chatting away, in a world of their own.
I try to think of myself as blessed.
They have each other! I tell myself.
But what about me? I counter.
“Hey, what about me?” I actually say aloud most of the time.
“The sidewalk’s too narrow, Mom!” they counter. “It’s too crowded here.”
I suppose in a bunch of years one of them will be walking next to me, supporting me with an arm, or walking next to my rollator or some such device.
But I’d really rather walk next to them now.
But this is the way it’s supposed to be, to some degree, right?
We lead them, teach them, they learn, and they run ahead.
When the little one was a toddler, she’d take off ahead, running down steep hills or toward the ocean as if there was no time to waste. And she lives her life like that now, for the most part, traveling the world whenever she can, living each day to its fullest with good friends and food. And drink.
Then she’ll come back here, to the apartment she was raised in and ask to climb into bed with me.
It’s sweet, but sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten comfy sleeping on my own.
Am I getting too used to living life from behind? Not a chance.
The truth is, they won’t let me.
“Mom, are you awake?” It’s 5am and one of them is texting me.
“Mom, I know you’re busy, but . . .” It’s 9am that same day, and the other one is in my room wanting to talk.
We lead them, we teach them, and they run ahead. Standing behind them is actually a sign of growth. Seeing them from behind is seeing them assert themselves.
But for the longest time, they will continue to stop, turn around, and run right back.
Story 3: Holding hands at “Hands Off”
They held hands as they waited to move forward with over 200,000 others. It was the April 5th “Hands Off” protest, and the crowd was calm, even somewhat joyous as we stood in the rain waiting for the march to begin.
I noted the couple and their clasped hands, and I smiled. I smiled to myself because I was alone. A lot of people like to or need to go to protests with someone else or a group, but I have found myself participating in quite a few by myself. And I don’t mind.
But none of that mattered at that moment. We were starting to move! As we made our way down Fifth Avenue, I noticed quite a few people holding hands, mothers or fathers carrying or wheeling babies in strollers, people in wheelchairs or walking using any variety of assistive devices.
I’ve never been part of a couple at a protest. In fact, one of the few times I remember being part of a couple and going to a protest, I was still alone. It was in the 80s when I was living on 82nd Street and heard the No Nukes rally moving down Broadway. I ran down the steps from my fifth floor walk-up and joined them.
I was gone for hours, but my husband-then-boyfriend-now-ex never noticed.
I’m probably destined to march alone.
But this couple was holding hands every time I saw them.
Was this their first protest? I wondered.
Finally fed up with the state of the state? Or were they old-time hippies, nicely cleaned up, who had been protesting since fighting racism and the Vietnam War on their college campuses in 1968?
Did they fight for gay rights in the 70s? Did they protest nukes during the 80s? The WTO in the 90s?
It’s likely that I’ll never know any of that.
The last time I saw them was on 35th Street. I pulled over at 34th Street to meet my niece, and she and I finished the march together.
I guess I did have company for that march after all.
It’s easy to assume that many people joined the march in anger, to protest false kings, the death of democracy, and the loss of life as we know it.
But when I think of this couple and the other people holding hands, walking with children, holding babies, guiding wheelchairs, or just walking alone in the crowd singing, chanting, or even in silence, I like to imagine a different scenario.
I’d like to think they were there for love, the birth of a new type of government, and the birth of a new age.
As is the case with many people I see at protests, I never got to see their faces or talk to them.
I saw their hand-holding and felt the love between them. The comfort. And that feeling was multiplied by other hand-holding couples, parents and children, and songs of hope. That feeling permeated the crowd.
At least, that’s what it felt like from behind.
Epilogue
I have always enjoyed the mystery of seeing people from behind. In most cases, these are people I don’t know at all, and I can only imagine the lives they have lived.
If I know the people, I can use the opportunity to see them from behind to reflect on what has led us to this moment. And whatever I learn about them, I always discover more about myself.
See you next time! From behind.
Thank you for listening!
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