I inherited it from my mom. The Kodak gene. Really.
Or maybe it was just a peculiar version of the Stockholm Syndrome. . . where I was held captive by my mother's "photographing the family" obsession long enough to begin to identify with my captor. Now I am the one yelling "put down that drumstick and smile!"
Yep, that's my role in the family. Photographic Tyrant. The one who won't let anybody sit down at the Thanksgiving table or start eating until the official snapshots have been made. Not a nice job, exactly, but somebody's gotta do it. Those piles of fuzzy, off-center photographs don't just make themselves, you know. Somebody has to interrupt everything and make themselves the center of attention by calling for everyone to stop what they're doing, pose, and smile as if they're having the time of their lives.
The fun part of this stage of my life is that I have a whole new generation of victims to capture. Grandchildren-- the subjects of many, if not most, amateur photography excesses. And if you start them early enough, they seem to enjoy the process and pose endlessly... until they drop of exhaustion and just go to sleep.This Christmas I got an early present. . . a digital camcorder! And until now I had no real sympathy for the problems encountered by filmmakers. This is a whole new perspective on picture taking. And on children. Those suckers move FAST. My first attempts seem to show a lot of the backs of kids' heads. I have become a master of "after the fact."
Worse yet, I have nothing to hold in my hands afterward. . . except a camera with a teeny tiny view screen.Enter: my technical consultant who says I can download my "films" to my computer and see my mistakes large and in brilliant color and clarity. I am terrified to see what I have wrought.
Ratz.
After a whole morning of frustration, I won't be able to bring you any of my fabulous video. Sorry. Maybe later, after my video guy reprograms me to be more computer friendly.
Anyway, I now have video of one of my grandsons being held upside down by his uncle for three whole minutes. . . giggling maniacally the whole time. I have video of another grandson doing a mountain-man clog dance while mugging for the camera. And I have video of youngest grandgirl eating cookies and climbing all over her brothers' train table and looking adorable in a suit of barber-pole candystripes that makes me dizzy when she twirls around and around. There are also too many photos of grandchildren running around like mad in mere underwear. Anybody else's kids or grandkids seem to HATE wearing clothes. . . even in the dead of winter? And there is the obligatory I-didn't-know-the-camera-was-on shot of beige carpet. . . while an enraged three-year-old screams in the background because his new toy got swiped.
Come to think of it, maybe it's best I that I can't share with you any of my new creations. The documentation of the chaos of family life and long-distance Christmas visits may best be left to the perpetrators themselves.
Who is the designated photographer/picture-Nazi in your family? Is there a trend to the pictures he or she takes? Do your kids or grands have favorite poses they always strike-- favorite silly faces they always make? Do you keep your pictures in (a) the original developers' envelopes, (b) wherever there's a place to stuff them, (c)boxes in the closet, or (d) gorgeous leather albums and themed scrapbooks? And if it's "D" how the heck do you do it?
