So much in common

’Tis the season for holiday gatherings — collections of relatives, work colleagues, neighbors and people who sit together at club or committee meetings or on a church pew.

Sometimes these folks know one another well, even a little too well. 

Sometimes they are virtual strangers.

The whole idea of holiday gatherings is to celebrate the season with joy, gratitude, good will and good cheer.

We all know that doesn’t always happen.

Any collection of human beings includes differences of taste, personality, lifestyles and opinion. That means clashes are possible.

This isn’t new. 

But this year — when the divisions in our country are so marked that any two people could suddenly find themselves in serious disagreement about any number of things — these gatherings might feel like minefields for all involved.

What topics of conversation are safe? Some might respond, “None at all.”

I disagree. (See? We’re arguing already.)

For many years, my brother Jack, longtime editor, publisher, president and chair of the Graphic Printing Co., wrote a Christmas story he shared not only with family and friends, but also with readers of the company’s newspapers. Here’s an example, reprinted with permission from Jack’s heirs.

“Not Pictured” is set at a family reunion in the 1950s. It’s important to know that because the “hero” of the story has borrowed a Speed Graphic — a large and complicated camera that requires those being photographed to hold still briefly — to use at the reunion. The friend who lent him the camera gave the hero this advice about handing the subjects of the photo: “You have to develop a command voice. Talk to them the way you would talk to a disobedient dog.”

At the reunion, the hero sets up a stepladder so he can get high enough to include everyone in the photo. 

In this story, I think Jack touches upon something close to a universal human experience. 

••••••••••

Each of the adults in the room — with the blessed exception of his wife — was trying to take charge.

He remembered his buddy’s advice, gave his wife a shrug, then climbed up the first step of the ladder.

“OK everybody,” he said, sounding like someone else. “Let’s start by quieting down.”

The sister-in-law with the ugly baby started to say something but caught herself.

Aunt Maxine gave him an imperious look, but it bounced off.

He told one group to move in from the side. He told three people in the back that they were invisible and made them change places. He told all of them that just because they could see him didn’t mean the camera could see them. He had the children gather to the lower left, placed his wife’s parents right at the center, and had three couples holding the most recent babies scrunch together to make more room.

Aside from the babies, who were inclined to be fussy, everyone was quiet and did as directed.

“Great,” he said, speaking with more confidence than at any other Christmas Eve gathering in his married life.

He hefted the Speed Graphic up to eye level, adjusting the range finder on a track beside the bellows, then peered through the peep sight.

“All right,” he said. “Smile and say, ‘Merry Christmas!’”

The flashbulb popped and the roomful of people saw blue spots in front of their eyes.

Pulling out the film case, he inserted an opaque shield, turned the film case over, then put it back in the camera. He ejected the flashbulb and put the still-hot glass bulb in his jacket pocket, then put in another bulb.

Throughout the procedure, the room was silent. Even the babies were well-behaved. He was in charge. It was his moment,

“Let’s take one more just to be sure. This looks like one big happy family. Let’s save this moment,” he said.

“It’s a moment worth saving,” said Aunt Maxine, her tone softer than he’d heard before. She was smiling at him, not just smiling for the camera, but smiling for him.

He grinned back and brought the camera up in to place.

“Smile and say, ‘Peace,’” he said.

“Peace” filled the room.

••••••••••

I told several people Jack’s story as I prepared to write this column.

Every single one of them responded with a story about a group photo experience of their own — as photographer, part of the crowd, an order-giver or the equivalent of Aunt Maxine.

If you find yourself at a gathering with someone you haven’t seen in a long time or someone you have never met before, try sharing the group photo story. It could spark an unexpected conversation.

Jack had a knack for reminding us all of the many things we have in common.

In these days of division, that’s a good thing to remember.