There is much to be said for the arguments against our culture's – and particularly our generation's – tendency to over-record. Social media platforms allow us to share every little detail immediately. People experience sunsets, concerts, and milestones through screens and lenses. A moment is captured, cropped, contrasted, and filtered so that, by the time it is shared, it has become something different. All of this is true. I've resisted the urge to try to record the perfect sky or the song I can't believe this band played or how cute the dogs are sleeping or how funny I think my sister can be sometimes so that I can just experience the moment and not have it and my voice lost in the deluge of other posts of the same sky, the same song, just-as-cute animals, and just-as-less-funny-after-the-fact wit.
But, sometimes, I'm reminded of my father. This is three-fold.
First, when I developed camera shyness in adolescence, both of my parents admonished me. "Why do you always make that face?" "Why can't you just sit still?" "You'll be happy to have these one day." My dad was the only one who could get halfway decent photos out of me. And, you know what? I am happy to have them.
Second, my parents have hundreds upon hundreds of old photographs and I loved looking through them when I was a kid. One of the things I always remember is my dad saying, "I wish I had more pictures of ... " That sentiment was expressed about any number of things – his old dog, Gus; an old Chevy Nova he used to drive; artwork he'd done for people. Even now, I understand this. There are plenty of things of which I wish I had more photos.
Which brings me to the third – photos of my dad. Since he died, we have been through countless photos of him (and people are still showing us ones we've never seen). And yet, somehow, there are never enough. I will never tire of looking at old photos of my dad; and I'm so glad I have them.
So, the whole point of this: I will always take pictures of you when we're together. I can't tell if it annoys you, but I think it might. If it does, I'm sorry. Moments spent with you are my favorite. Editing them (say, by putting a warm filter on them that helps capture the warmth of feeling in that moment) and sharing them is one way of sharing my happiness with you and with the world. More than that, though, I don't ever want you or my time with you to be one of those things I regret not having enough of – I don't want "I wish I had more pictures of ... " to ever end in you. And I also know that, at certain times, having pictures of the people you love is the greatest thing – a small miracle of technology that allows you to hold on to someone after they're gone (forever or for a couple of weeks, it makes no difference).
(And, also, I like your face.)
