Yes, this is me, busy pounding away at my first epic novel. NOT.
This is a story about my father’s love of photography. He took pictures of weddings, entered contests (and won several awards), and practiced his photography skills on our family. Sometimes it was agony, and I say that is an affectionate way. Because as a result of his love for picture taking, I have a plethora of pictures from my childhood and fond memories of seeing my dad from the opposite side of his camera lens.
Dad was an avid . . . err . . . passionate . . . err . . . okay, I’ll just say it. My dad was an obsessive photographer. Everywhere we went, he had several cameras hanging around his neck. One for close-ups, one because the camera was easier to use, even a movie camera (which sometimes he used for still shots . . . go figure). There was no quick snapshot of the family. It was a process we endured. (And fondly remember). It was never one or two images either, just in case the first one didn’t come out—from the occasional blink at the bright flash of light, or the sleight of hand that blurred the picture. Selfies today are nothing compared to my father’s behind-the-camera determination to get the right picture.
Christmas morning could be agonizing as a child in my home. Imagine my sister and me, eager to rip into the colorful packages under the tree. Our Christmas morning started with us making our way down the twelve steps from our second-story bedrooms, posing on every step. Mind you, we couldn’t see the tree yet, (As Jean Shepherd author of A Christmas Story calls it, “The cornucopia, quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.”) But still, we had to feign surprise, excitement, and joy over the anticipated bliss awaiting us. Say nothing of nine shots taken of every gift (three for every camera), and the constant glare of floodlights and flashbulbs. I’m amazed I still have my sight! LOL.
There was one other thing Dad loved to do, and that was to fish, but as the pictures shown here attest to, he carried a camera along with him on every expedition hoping to get a picture of one of us catching the elusive granddaddy of all fishdom.
As to the picture at the top of the page, Dad had me posing in front of the camera again. This time pretending to be his personal secretary. I ran across it while going through the bazillion (well, it felt that way) pictures he took, and it has earned an honored spot on the header of my newsletter. (Which you can sign up for in the sidebar.) Funny, that’s where I am now, hovering over the modern-day typewriter. Who would believe Dad’s pictures were a prediction of future events?
So why no picture of me now? I did NOT inherit my father’s love of photography. Actually, no one in the family did. It became the family joke that he took enough pictures for all of us.
What were your parent's hobbies that created memorable moments in your childhood?
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