Grandpa Was An Auctioneer (and Grandma, a clerk).
Import from Watch Me Practice
A picture is as good a place to begin as any. A black and white photo. Grainy and at this point of unknown origins. My uncle took it most likely. My grandfather in the upper left corner, microphone in his hand, standing up in front of a crowd of people, at the auction house. My grandmother is there, sitting at his right hand, her clerk's books open in front of her. She looks in the direction of the photographer, as do many folks in the crowd. The boy in the letter jacket. Family friend Irma. The man at her side. The man in the fedora. The mother in the fur hat. And the daughter, carrying a matching purse and sucking her thumb. The rest of the folks, the slower to turn perhaps, remain facing my grandfather, who is in the midst of pointing his finger right at you, the viewer behind the lens, the one they turn to see. The one who perhaps just bid on some item. Blessed with his attention for the moment. Then he is singing again. He searches the faces of the others out there. What are you going to do? Do you want this? What is it that you want?
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