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| Photo (also approx. twenty years ago, of person unknown): © Stan Banos |
On a recent promenade through the Tenderloin district, a mail carrier stopped dead in the middle of the street and asked if my name was Stan. Who the hell is this mail carrier asking me my... Oh, shit- I know you! You're the mother of the child I tutored some twenty odd years ago, the mother and child I think of repeatedly- as in, wonder whatever happened to...
She was a mother determined, a mother determined not to let the streets swallow her child- she had hired me when he was around the ages between ten to twelve, once or twice every week to help with his reading and homework. Nice kid. Always wondered. He's twenty eight now, working as the manager of a retail store.
You made it, mom; you did it, you succeeded! And it was great to see her smile...
For two decades, they've lived in the back of my mind. A question that could have gone either way, vague memories of a past life for which one can only hope the best. Time and memory, people and events- the things that fill the passing of our lives. And its photography, so limited as it is, that has always remained the one small manifest that gives some small credence to the past, all our pasts...
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