This is a snapshot of my father and stepmother that I found one day while going through the many objects that overfill the physical spaces of my life. Unfortunately everywhere I look there is usually clutter. Among the more meaningful items I save and encounter are photographs and snapshots. Wikipedia refers to a snapshot as "an amateur photograph taken without preparation." I'm not certain about the accuracy of that definition, as one can develop a philosophical discussion around it. Another concept I found is "an informal photograph, usually made with a small hand-held camera." As indicated on the back of the photo {see image above} it was taken in 1954. My guess is that it was taken with a Kodak Brownie.
My biological parents were divorced when I was very young (around the age of three). For many years I had no contact with my father who apparently made numerous attempts to re-establish communication and dialogue. My father, George, was born in Greece on an island called Chios not far from Turkey. My stepmother, Paonne was French and spoke several languages fluently including French, English, Greek, Italian, and Spanish.
I always enjoyed looking at photographs and snapshots and have this concern/idea that in the not so distant future many of the images we create on an ongoing basis will be lost. Obviously millions of photos are created on a daily basis and are stored in memory cards, on computers, online, in "clouds,"  portable hard drives, and flash drives. I suppose one day while clearing away clutter one might encounter an old flash drive or memory card but the days of finding old snapshots in files and old suitcases will one day be gone.

My earlier years of life were an ongoing adventure, laughter, excitement, conflict and sorrow. Had it not been for my grandmother, Maria, I would have become a far worse lost soul than I currently am. Having lost her first son at Iwo Jima during WW II, I became the focus of much of her attention. This photo was taken by my Uncle Stavros, her youngest son, who will be mentioned numerous times throughout this story. It was Maria who gave me so many amazing things including my first camera. For many years we were inseparable, I learned many things from her including my personal belief in giving to others which probably led to my eventual interest in Buddhism.
This photograph was created on the front steps of the five floor walk-up where she lived. My cousin, Louise was often in the picture. Her father, Stavros, was a kind and talented man who became an older brother of sorts. A father of five children, he worked throughout the night. danced, bowled, and was always full of good humor. He was a film-lab technician and enjoyed making 16 mm. films of his family outings. Through my contact with him I learned about film-making and became inspired to learn about photography.
I often would pick up my 8mm. wind up camera and attempt to create a masterpiece. The filming was terrific fun but at the time I was unable to afford the cost of lab processing. Nevertheless for the next few years I indulged in "home movies" and was able to interact with a motley crew of friends.

For many years I was fortunate to have shared the friendship of another talented individual, Martin Rabeno. I attended a high school with a specialization in the arts, mostly due to his influence and support. I was always a "lost soul" of sorts, certainly this was the case during my high school tenure. I seemed to have frequently suffered a bit from the "Rodney Dangerfield Disorder", arriving in the right place but usually on the wrong day. I can still recall much uncertainty and confusion while attending high school. At least two important teachers I encountered helped me get through, together with my love for photography and a suddenly inspired interest in English and writing.
I started working on the yearbook as a photographer and spent much of my time shooting the architecture of the building and the gargoyles that surrounded it. Perhaps it was not accidental that I was required to read and became fascinated by Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.I perceived myself to have much in common with Quasimodo.
Constantly seen with a camera in hand, I searched everywhere for clues to the meaning of life. The above photograph is a one-of-a-kind image taken by Martin in his home. It was likely created in the the early 1960's. I can still vividly remember hearing about John F. Kennedy's assassination as we walked toward his house. People were shouting through the streets in disbelief and running home to watch the news.
By the time I graduated from high school I wanted to study and learn more about photography. Instead of attending "college" like most people my age, I decided to attend a vocational school in Manhattan for a while. It was actually quite inspiring, the format replicated the experiences of an internship with a group of professionals. Unfortunately it was not an "accredited" school and concerns about the draft became paramount. I started searching for schools (no available internet back then) and located a possibility on the West Coast. A recently acquired used car, a few hundred dollars worth of clothing, and a little "pocket change" and I was off for California. I remember the long drive as I heading out West, I was full of excitement, uncertainty, and an unfortunate lack of confidence that would haunt me for most of my life. On the second night after having driven a multitude of miles, I reversed charges and called home. Not certain what to expect, my call was answered by several family members simultaneously. Each pleading with me in a "Greek Chorus" to return home and attend college nearby. Suffering from a deficiency in confidence and an undeveloped autonomy, I decided to return home. This was the major "U-Turn" of my life, I combined two days of driving into one and returned from Chicago to the East Coast in one day non-stop.