My cousin posted a picture on her Facebook page from a family reunion a few years ago. A group of us were on my Cousin Sam’s boat, ready to take a ride around Lake Charles.

The day was beautiful, the waves calm and we were all taking advantage of the reunion to catch up on each other’s’ lives.

Looking at the picture, I saw my youngest son standing in the middle of the boat surrounded by his cousins. I “shared” the picture online, but he wasn’t too happy. When Chris saw the photo, all he noticed was his thinning hair in the back.

“Thanks Mom; I didn’t think my day could get worse,” was his reply.

Truth be told, I never noticed his hair.

When I looked at the picture, I flashed back to that day and that particular boat ride. Our cousin Mike was the designated boat driver, and all afternoon, he’d been pulling a raft along the back of the boat, kids and adults having a grand time in the water.

My eldest granddaughter had fallen in love with riding on the raft and had gone on every boat ride that day, jumping on the raft every chance she got.

After much coaxing, my son convinced his 4-year-old son to ride on the raft, reassuring him he’d be right next to him. Chris rode between his two eldest children, his arms around their waists, holding them securely on the raft.

My granddaughter, who’s a bit of a daredevil just like her father and her great grandfather, tried to stand up and ended up in the water. She came up laughing, begging to go again to which Mike happily obliged.

I’m sorry that my son saw that picture and was critical of himself because that picture was a reminder of how much fun we all had that day. I was reminded of how much I enjoyed sitting next to my aunt from Florida, listening to stories of when she, my dad and my mom were young and starting their lives.

Earlier that day, I visited with my cousins, swapping stories of when we were young and comparing them to the antics of our own children and, for some of us, our grandchildren.

We were no longer the carefree Cajun cousins who spent our summers crawfishing and crabbing in the shallow waters by my uncle’s house.

Nor were we the daredevils who learned to water ski together and dared each other to suck the heads of the crawfish at loud, wonderful get togethers. We were older, some of us a bit more cautious, while some still had that limitless love of life our parents instilled in all of us.

My son’s reaction to how he looked wasn’t that far away from my reaction when I look at photos of myself. My first thought is “I need to start that diet yesterday” and a wistfulness at the older person I see in the photographs because she doesn’t reflect the way I feel on the inside.

Reading his comment and looking at the picture, I realized I need to take my own advice and stop looking at myself so critically. Instead I need to look at pictures and remember the fun we’re having and the memories we’re making, memories that last all our lives.

I hope my son goes back and looks at that photo again and can visualize the picture I have in my mind – that of a father, his strong arms around his two young children, all three basking in unabashed joy and happiness.

That’s what I see in that picture.

And, oh, so much more.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.