Cameras.  I grew up around cameras.  Cameras and family get-togethers.  Whenever us cousins would play, there was always time to stop for the group shot…the one for the ages and for future generations.  I always took off my thick glasses cause I thought it made me look prettier.  My dad or uncle would get out the tripod.  There was always lots of laughing as they ran back and forth to set the timer.  Everyone laughed after the flash went off.  When I got older, I would groan on the first day of school when my parents made me sit on the hall tree for that first day photo.  Fake smile?  Yes.  They took the pictures anyway…and they never gave up.

 

History.  My grandmothers and mom and aunts.  “Always write on the backs of your pictures” they would say and then show us albums and snapshots of people I didn’t know.  Most all of the photos were black and white and curled at the edges.  They called the people long, long names and talked about where they lived and who their children were.  I never could remember who went with who (and sometimes still don’t).  They held these pictures as if they were precious jewels and told us to remember.

 

Family.  Surrounded.  Every holiday.  Every birthday.  In high school and in college. When I was in band, they came and took pictures.  When I was a theatre major in college and in a show, they were there.  Not for one show of the run….every night of the run.   My grandma with her super-fast “clap, clap, clap” that I could hear over everything else. My dad with his monopod and camera sneaking pictures during performances.  My mother so carefully making my costumes and writing on the pictures “who, what, when, where” and organizing them and wanting us to look at them together.  On the yellow couch.

 

Him.  It’s so cliche’ to say I never knew love until I met Mr. Right.  But..tis true.  What I thought was love had led me down many a bad path and at times, I was a broken shell.  Then…I met Russell.  With his super-cute smile and eyes that only looked in my direction,  he laughed at all my jokes and even acted like he liked my music.  We were smitten.  Our friends called us magnets.  We were in love…

 

Marriage.  We got married at the Baptist Church.  I wore a beautiful silk and beaded princess dress my mom painstakingly altered.  My bridesmaids wore navy and I had the most beautiful flowers I’d ever seen.  Our pastor forgot half of the ceremony and Russell’s last name.  I left before I wanted to leave.  I cried leaving the church.  Not from sadness…  My favorite photos from the day were Uncle Charlie’s.  Shots from the sidelines.    Us when we weren’t posing and looking.  Real moments.

 

Children.  Colin came almost exactly nine months after we got married….and no it wasn’t a scandal.  We had Benjamin several years later and then Gillian.  I got my first SLR camera when Colin was a baby and thought I had it goin’ on.  I took pictures of everything.  Rocks. Leaves.  Laundry piles. I wanted to document our days and started scrapbooking as a hobby, then as a job.  I upgraded from my film camera to a Nikon D70s and was in heaven.  Nothing was sacred.  Everything was a moment.  

 

Cameras.  Now I take pictures every day on the first day of school.  When Colin fake smiles I threaten him with tickles.  Sometimes it works.  Most of the time he rolls his eyes.   I point out pictures of my sweet daddy and say “this is your Grandpa Gearld.  He’s in heaven and he loves you.”  Colin looks at me with his big blue eyes and smiles.  Benjamin cuddles.  Gillian laughs and wiggles her toes.  

I say “look right here! Look at the camera!!!”  Colin gives me another fake smile.  I  I dance.  I say the word “booty” in a super silly voice (my last resort) and they all (even Colin) giggle.   

I’ll never give up..and I don’t want to forget.

That’s why.