So, it turned out, the source was to be my only option.

Luckily, Grandma lived nearby and I frequently dropped in to say hello.

"Hi, Gram," I said from her front porch.

"How much do you need now?" she said, by way of greeting. Okay, fine, I dropped by to say hello usually when I needed money. Guess she knew me pretty well. Now it was my turn to get to know her a bit better.

"Can’t a guy drop by just to say hello to his Grandma?"

"Yes, that would be nice, for a change. Okay, come in. And wipe your shoes off."

I did as commanded and entered the home that hadn’t changed one iota for as long as I could remember. Neither had Grandma, for that matter. She was, for lack of a better term, grandmotherly, and had always appeared that way to me. She was on the short side. A good twenty pounds heavier than she’d probably like to be. Somewhat wrinkled. And if I had to say so, she was sort of on the pretty side. Kind of like my own mother with an extra twenty years added on. But she definitely didn’t look like a stripper. Then again, I didn’t really know what she looked like, or, for that matter, acted like forty-some-odd years earlier.

Grandma fixed me a sandwich and a glass of milk and sat with me at the kitchen table.

"You’re looking well," she said and ruffled my hair as I ate.

"You too," I said and set the sandwich down. "Speaking of which, I was over mom and dad’s the other day and I noticed something funny."

"Yeah, I told your mom to try some room deodorizer. I think that smell is your father’s socks."

"No, not that. But I think you’re right on that one. No, mom was forcing me to look at our family photo albums, and I noticed that there weren’t any of you from before you got married. How come?"

Grandma squirmed in her seat and remained silent. She looked down at her orthopedic shoes, her hands, and the table, but not up to me. Instead, she cleared away my plate and started scrubbing it in the sink. Eventually, she said, "Oh, I’m sure there’s a picture of me here or there."

I knew exactly where, but was biding my time. Instead, I said, "Show me. I’d like to see what you looked like."

"Why?" she asked, putting the dish on the rack to dry. "I thought you hated family photos."

"Hate is such a strong word," I lied, for truly I did hate looking at them. Especially since I’d viewed them all a hundred times before. But there were, I now assumed, some I hadn’t seen.