One evening, I was on the computer, scrolling through a post called Timeline Photos Of Old New York: images of different eras, people and places in New York. About 15 photographs in, I saw a young boy looking out at me and thought, “That looks just like me when I was a kid!” I scrolled past, but something made me go back. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “That looks like my dad.” I flipped out, ran to my wife and said, “Honey, you’ve got to see this. Tell me if I’m crazy or not.” But there I was, in the picture. I have no recollection of it being taken, even though I was looking dead at the photographer. We researched it, and found it was in on sale in a London gallery for £2,000. I felt pretty strange and proud seeing a £2,000 price tag next to my face.

In the picture, I’m eight years old – I’m 66 now. We’re on the north-east corner of Bloomingdale’s, where my mother shopped all the time. My best guess is mom is in Bloomingdale’s with my younger brother and sister, and we’re outside waiting. I believe in the photo my dad is cleaning gum off my shoe. My friends tease me that it’s dog mess – at that time in New York, people didn’t have to clean up after their dogs. I’ve seen that look of mine in other pictures. I’m at the mercy of my dad, hanging on to him while he’s holding up my foot, and I’m seeing this woman I don’t know taking my picture and going, “Huh?”

This photographer, Vivian Maier, was really mysterious. She took thousands of incredible photos, put them in boxes and never showed anyone. They were discovered after she died. It’s surreal to know my face was hidden in a box for all those years. If I could speak to Maier now, I’d tell her I loved her photographs, that I’m blown away by what she was able to do with a technologically crude camera. I’d show her the picture and say, “Ma’am, this is me”, and see what she would say about it, if she remembers taking it, and if she ever got any backlash from the streets of New York, such as “Hey, lady, get outta here, will ya? Don’t take my picture. Gimme that film!”

We lived across the water in Queens – we could look out of our window and see the Empire State building, the Chrysler building and the sunset behind the skyline. This looks like a weekend, when we would go into Manhattan. In the picture, you can see a parking lot where parking cost 75 cents, which is laughable now. There’s still a lot there – I know, because in August my wife and I made a pilgrimage from our home in Florida right to that corner on 60th Street and 3rd Avenue. Third Avenue used to be a lower-middle-class street with a loud, elevated train. Now, the train is long gone and 3rd Avenue’s upmarket; it’s funny to think my grandparents refused to live there because it was “too slummy”.

This picture has been a great thing for my family. My mother, now 92 and still in New York, was really enthused. My dad passed away 20 years ago and he’s kind of come alive again, because it captured us. Everybody says I look just like him. We’re proud to be a part of this Vivian Maier saga. I’ve got a copy on my mantle, front and centre, and my son put it on my desktop so as soon as I open up my computer, there I am. It never gets old.

• To see more of Vivian Maier’s work, visit Beetles+Huxley, 3-5 Swallow Street, London W1.

Interview: Erica Buist.

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