Betty and I have an old car that is pushing 200,000 miles. It still runs fine but I was thinking of getting a new one, something fancy, something that speaks to status, to luxury.

Something posh. Something with a quiet ride. Something cushy.

I look at pictures of fine motorcars I’d never be able to afford, but then I look at another picture, one that I took years ago in my brother Peter’s backyard, at the swing set.

It is my all time favorite family photo. Of our two boys and Pete and Georgia’s children, two girls and a boy. They’re young, tiny enough to all fit on one swing. They’re in their 20s now, with lives of their own. Later, brother Nick and his wife Dina had two boys who were born later, otherwise they’d be in that photo, too.

But when I sit in the dad chair in our living room, scrolling on my phone, looking at fancy cars that I yearn for but won’t buy, and I look up and see that picture of the kids on the swing set.