My father visited Niagara Falls in September of 1965, the year he came to Canada. These are the photographs I still have in my collection to document his visit. As with all his photographs, on the back, he wrote a description of what the photograph portrayed. It felt so magical to read them as explanations of places I could not imagine when I was just seven years old living in a world without television or other ways of connecting with what existed outside the insularity of my island home of São Miguel.

Years later, when it was my turn to see Niagara Falls with my own eyes, I saw it as a confirmation of what was already familiar to me from the photographs my mother and I received while my father was away.

Skylon Tower

I don’t know if it was my father or if it was me who took this photograph of my mother with my little brother, born in Canada, on one of our trips to Niagara Falls, sometime in the late 1970s.

What I notice about this photo is that, in composition, it could have been me who took it; it could also have been my father. I’m sure I got my love of photography from him and our styles and ways of seeing through the lens of a camera seem to blend into one.

Unlike the 1965 photographs this one has no writing on the back. It’s not even dated. It’s no longer a photograph of an immigrant’s exploration but rather one of arrival and belonging, and looking towards the future. A future which made Toronto our home.

My father at 37 years of age, in 1965

Antonio Cabral de Melo October 3, 2028 – April 21, 2005