My father was a carpenter. Each day he’d get home covered in drywall and ask me to take off his boots. The memory is tied to several cases of my mother berating him to repair our own house. It always started after the beat of the second boot hitting the ground, a repetition in 4/4 timing.
I understood my mother’s argument at an early age, but it was later in adolescence when I appreciated my father’s feelings. When I started to work as a dishwasher, the last thing I wanted to do was go home and clean my own dishes. My friends that were cooks ordered out too much. The idea to go home and continue to work is unappealing to the appetite of a good life.
Now a photographer, I don’t want to be the designated family member for photos in our get togethers.
I lost my father young, and recently I lost my cousin, Sara. We know it’s an event that will happen more frequently as time passes. Sara was from my father’s side of the family, and the funeral was a grim way to show me I don’t have enough photos of my family.
I told myself it was because I rather be in the present and enjoy their time. I know that isn’t true in most cases. I know I feel much like my father did after he came home from work. Though I love taking photos. Complete stranger enthrall me. I have my camera on me for every outing outside the house.
So what’s stopping me?
Fear of failure: Did I capture the wrong mood? Is the person I’m photographing going to hate this photo? Is this somehow going to come back at me with angry reactions?
Now, as a full adult, I think I understand my father even deeper. I like to think these are similar reasons he was so prone against working on our family home. The idea of failing your family.
I took some photos right after Sara’s funeral. A few of my cousins and their friends had gathered. I sat on these for awhile. My feelings lingered on thoughts about composition and subject matter. I wondered if they were good enough to show, and then I fretted about whether they’re too private to be public.
Life is short and far too precious. This story might inspire someone else to photograph their family more. They’ll have something to show to the next generation and them to the next.
We’re hurled through empty space on a lone rock, and photography feels like one of the best ways to yell out to the void, “WE EXIST!”
