I wrestle around with whether or not I should use more images of the boys instead of by the boys around here. I try not to for a couple of reasons.
I guess the obvious reason is to help maintain my, perhaps misguided, sense of comfort here on the innerwebs. Yes, I know that I am mistaken, everyone knows that the internet = bad. I am not so naive to think everyone around here is nice.
Another not so obvious reason for limiting the number of images I use of the boys is that that's under control. My wife does a nice job making albums for them and the digitals are backed-up on one portable hard drive. I feel that they are going to be available when the time comes to look back, me as an old man or them as young men, both, perhaps, still searching for answers. On the other hand, construction paper and markers are surprisingly short-lived and even keeping them in a folder is no guarantee they'll last.
That being said, sometimes, just as with a story, there is more to a photograph (if I can I still call them that). Some just require more explanation, back story and that sort of thing.
I had arranged a bunch of pretty words and stuff to tell you what to think of this picture but, I decided not to use them.
I do this whole bloggy thing for, well, that... not him specifically (in this case), but childhood. This picture makes me joyful. Growing up should be joyful.
This one is more recent. They came home from church, took off their dress-shirts, changed from khaki pants into shorts and went about their usual nonsense. They forgot to take off their dark socks. The fifties called and said they wanted their little hipsters back. I did a double take every time I saw them, it just cracked me up. It's a cute pic and a cute story:
But there is more here, it again so iconically (for me) shows that intangible thing we call childhood; that thing called joy; that place called memory.
There are so many other photos I could put on here, telling the stories behind them, celebrating them. But for today I won't. If something important needs to be shown, I will.
From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the
N: "Zack, join me in the beer shack! Grab a beer and come in and relax!" (He literally followed this statement with glugging noises like he was drinking)
Bill (quickly, and hopefully, interjected): "Cool! Are you having root beer?"
Nick: "Yeah, Dad, want some?"
Wait, a beer shack, in the basement? Sweet...