An Enigma

It could have been one of those modern old fashioned photos of him, perhaps taken before we met.

It looked that much like him.

I didn’t think it was, though, because of the company the old-timey photo kept, hanging on the stairway wall with folks, some of whom I knew to be his ancestors.

So it must be an ancestor, I thought.

My husband, you know.  Husband number one.  The one who left me a young widow.

His dear family is still mine, and once in a while, when I can afford the time off and the air fare, I visit them in the house where he grew up.  The photo must have newly surfaced from some neglected drawer or trunk, because I do not remember having seen it before.

I asked Mum about it on the last day of our visit. 

“He’s sort of an enigma.” she said, “He is my grandfather on my father’s side.  I never met him, and indeed, no one ever spoke of him.  Questions regarding him were quickly hushed.  He and my grandmother had seven children, of whom my father was the youngest.  I eventually learned that he left their home in Ontario when my father was very young, saying that he was going to Detroit to find work in the burgeoning auto industry.  He never returned.  Rumor had it that once he reached Detroit he took up with another woman.”

A cad indeed.

Dear Mother Nature:  I hereby propose that you prohibit innocent offspring from looking like their dastardly ancestors.   Traits, especially looks, should be passed on with honor from the honorable ones.  As a Mother yourself, I’m sure you agree.
.