The other day I raved about the mentally unhealthy experience I had at our local portrait studio.
You were undoubtedly wondering why I put myself through that every year. You’re also probably wondering whether we opt in to the whole school photo thing or not. And the answer is yes, yes we do. I love school photos, even when they’re bad. Really. The lighting, the full-face pose, the cropping, it gives you a photo that you can compare to the last one, and the one before that. And when you see them all in a row you can see how a person changed and grew. I love it, and even though I know I can do the same thing here at home, this way I know it will be done.
I do have a petite beef with those photographers too. They work in digital now, so they aren’t limited to two poses. Why not just snap off three or four? If there was more to choose from I would be happier about shelling out the big bucks, you know what I mean?
I didn’t want to continue my rant about portraits today, but I did want to jot down a few words about the importance of having a stack of good photos.
I’ve been reading a book that has made me think a lot about my childhood. And you know what (and this is going to sound a little sad) but I don’t remember having much fun with my parents.
Oh sure, I have a few memories here and there. I was an only child. I had lots of little friends on my street. I remember playing with them a lot. We had wonderful freedoms, ones that few children had today. We biked far and wide, spent our allowances on Big League Chew and marshmallow strawberries, played tag and hide and seek – but I also remember spending a lot of time alone – swinging on our tippy aluminum-framed swingset, climbing the cherry tree in the backyard, playing with my dolls, and listening to my records over and over again.
I remember going swimming with my parents, but my mother never wanted to get her hair wet. We all had cross-country skiis, and bikes, but I was the only one who seemed to want to use them.
I remember going on Sunday walks in the woods (accompanied by Charlie, our Airedale terrier), being dragged to the museum (which I hated), and to Czech dinner theatre (which, for the most part, I only enjoyed because of the singing and the fact that I could eat cake while watching a live show).
Perhaps this is all selective memory. Perhaps I am misremembering. None of this has ever really occurred to me before, but this is where my mind is at today.
My father worked long hours. We lived in Bramalea (now Brampton), and he made the commute to downtown Toronto (Bathurst/Bloor area) every day. He’d come home after I had already gone to bed. My mother didn’t work, at least not when I was in elementary school. She was busy in the home. My father eventually quit his downtown job and opened his own stereo/TV sales/repair shop nearby. He worked six days a week, refusing to cave to Sunday shoppers, which was just beginning to be an issue. Later, my mother helped my father balance the books.
Everyone was always busy.
I have memories of begging my parents to play Trouble with me. I remember once watching Sesame Street with my mother, and then turning around to talk to her about something funny that had happened but she’d left the room without saying anything.
Is this all true, or am I just misremembering?
The photographic evidence is rather spotty, one way or the other. There are a lot of photos of me as a cute 5, 6, 7 year old, but after awhile the photos peter out and there are fewer and fewer of me as I grow older. Perhaps this was a reflection of my parent’s failing marriage, because I hated having my picture taken (and still do) I don’t know. But what I do know is that it makes me feel, well, a little sad.
…
I think this is the root of why I think it’s important we photograph our children, especially when we’re doing fun things as a family. And more importantly, I think we need to show them those photos every once in awhile to remind them. We need talk about what we did together to keep it fresh in our minds:
Remember when we went to Hog’s Back Falls and saw the rainbow?
Remember when we fed the chickadees?
Remember when we went tobogganing and almost went as far as the creek?
Remember when we explored the cave?
Remember when we rented a paddle boat at Dow’s Lake and fed the ducks?
Remember when you swam in the ocean for the first time? Flew on an airplane? Held a firefly?
… What did you like best about it? And shall we do it all again?
Talking is one thing. The photos add to this, of course. As I sit here typing I am watching the screensaver on Mark’s computer. He’s got it set up to show random photos from our (ahem, very extensive) photo library. The memories, oh, the memories. They are so beautiful. Our little family has so much fun. I hope my children remember these happy times, how much I adore them, and how much fun we’ve all had together.
