What's In A Photograph?

           It’s a dated photo, as is evidenced by the cars in the background, 1960 model vehicles that show no signs of age. It is a picture of a man in his thirties in a white button-down shirt, white undershirt, brown slacks and black rimmed eyeglasses in his breast pocket. His brown hair remains only on the sides of his head, with the exception of a small patch around the crown. Over his left shoulder, the top of a neighbor’s front porch is visible and that along with the grass to his right at the bottom of the picture reveal that he is obviously standing in a front yard, probably his own. In his hands he holds his youngest son, a mere infant staring up at his Daddy.
           And he’s smiling.
           To most that may set their gaze upon this picture, it would probably seem quite unspectacular, but considering that the man is my Father and I am the infant in his arms, I would understandably disagree. Especially in light of the fact that it is the only picture I have ever seen of myself in his arms, and one of only a handful in which we both appear. Needless to say, I have always treasured that picture, and recently I’ve found myself looking at it more and more. I oftentimes find my eyes on that picture around the time I am dwelling on my impending fatherhood and the related insecurities I feel, and it comforts me.
           Not unlike a song, a smell, or even a well told story, a photograph can transport you, if just for a few moments, to a different time and place. Even if you can’t remember that time or place. We’ve all felt it. Looking through a photo album, or more so to many these days at a computer monitor, our eyes find an image and the involuntary smile appears, sometimes accompanied by a laugh, sometimes by tears. Both have happened when I look at the picture of my Father and I, and oftentimes I become overwhelmed when thinking of how much that photograph means to me. Among the plethora of emotions I feel in those moments is thankfulness.
           I am thankful that for whatever reason, someone that day (probably my Mother) said “Ken, let’s get a picture of you and Vernon.”. Because of that, I am able to possess the treasure of that image.
           A few years ago, on a trip home I scanned that and other family photographs and made some CDs to give to family members. It was then that I realized that I really had no real visual documentation of my life since leaving home so many years ago. Four years of college, my years in the Air Force in New Mexico, my years in Tennessee, and so very few photos to show for it. Since then, I have become “that guy”. The guy who always seems to have his camera and ain’t afraid to use it. Sometimes you are grateful for “that guy” and sometimes you wish for the sake of your sanity and corneas that he and his flash would just go away. One phenomenon that never ceases to amaze me, however, is that inevitably, whomever complains the loudest about “that guy” having his camera out is usually the very person who is the most vocal about getting copies of the pictures “that guy” is taking. (You know who you are. You are smiling and shaking your head sheepishly as you read)
           On any given day I may take anywhere from 0 to 100 or more photos, depending on my mood and the day’s itinerary. I will be the first to admit that the majority of my photos would fit under the classification of “throwaways”, and some friends (yes, you, Michael Renner) oftentimes become incensed at the reckless nature in which I shoot pictures. I do this: a) because I am not a photographer per se, and b) because some of the gems that result from the element of surprise and/or lack of posing are priceless and worth the throwaways. And blessed with the technological advances in media storage for digital cameras, I find no reason not to go gem searching whenever possible. I have a 12 megapixel camera which means I can crop or blow up any part of my photos and make more than one picture out of a single shot (which means even unintentional background content can be made into a standalone picture) and I have a memory card that allows me 1000 pictures before having to dump them to my computer. And that’s just one of my memory cards. (I actually just heard a collective groan from my friends and family members) Add to this the fact that I have photoshop and the possibilities that result from the pictures I take truly become endless. (Whoa! That time I heard a collective groan AND sigh!)
           But look on the bright side – none of you will ever have to say “Do you have any pictures of the twins?” or “I’ll bet Sydney and Elliott are getting big” or anything of the sort. As long as I have a camera and there is an internet, there will never be a problem with lack of pictures nor the availability to view them. As with the picture of my Father and myself, I am thankful for the ability to capture so many moments and make them available one day for my children. And of course I am thankful for the pictures that I do have of my Father and the rest of my family. I am thankful that when I tell my children about their Aunt Donna, I can show them pictures of her. Like the one of she and I sticking our tongues out at each other playfully that turned out to be one of the last photos of she and I together. That picture and a great deal of prayer continue to comfort me in the times I miss her most.
           So in the event that I snap your picture, whether you expect it or not, don’t be upset with me. You never know when a simple picture of you, maybe without your knowledge, and maybe with your hair messed up or a weird look on your face will become a treasure for someone who loves you in the years to come. Or it may just make me laugh out loud for a long period of time.
           Either way, it’s worth it.