Images

I have never liked pictures of myself. My love-hate relationship with photographs dates back to my primary school days. School picture day was a big deal at our house when I was a little girl. Mother rolled my baby-fine hair on sponge rollers, which worked their magic as I slept. My early school pictures reflect the childlike cuteness one expects in subjects from the entry grades.

Then I grew out of my baby blonde hair and into a size defined in the mail order catalogs as “pretty plus.” I tried so hard to smile and look good for the camera, only to be disappointed when the resulting pictures came back with my bangs askew or the lapels on my jacket out of place. The fact that the older groups had little warning and even less time in the photographer’s chair didn’t help.

I held out hope for my high school Senior photographs. In those days, “Senior pictures” were taken at the school building, with a limited choice of backgrounds and poses. I had heard that Senior photographs were “touched up” (a rumor probably started by the same misguided person who proclaimed computers would one day lead to a thirty-hour work week). I spent days selecting the perfect picture-day outfit.

I was sorely disappointed when my pictures arrived. Without doubt they were of good quality, but the image that looked back at me was nothing close to the one for which I’d hoped.

Dejected, I reported for my daily teacher’s aide assignment.

“I don’t like my pictures.”

The teacher reached for the packet in my hand, thumbed through the photos, and smiled back at me. “Why, these are beautiful!” he said. “They look just like you.”

That was the problem. That has always been the problem. In a society that places so much emphasis on outward appearance, I doubt I’m alone in saying that some of the most dreaded words in the English language are “Let’s take a picture!” I have only recently come to understand that a photograph is simply a snapshot in time, a two-dimensional representation of a multi-dimensional individual.

Although I can look back at favorite pictures of my family members and see glimpses of their personalities, their humor, their zest for life, I realize those were captured primarily because the photographer was in the right place at just the right time.

A few weeks ago, I stood with family and friends in the cemetery to honor my mother’s Aunt Pat. Dr. Patricia Goodman Wheaton experienced a life of which many dream, aptly described in her memorial tribute as one of “excitement, adventure, and service.” Beautifully designed, the tribute was full of photographs: nursing school, military service, family gatherings, her wedding. The picture that caught my attention was one of her seated at a piano. I had no idea until that moment she played. I commented on the photograph to a family friend, who told me she played by ear. I never knew we had that in common.

Some of the best images are those that occur absent the pronouncement that a picture is to be taken. Words can paint a portrait no digital image can capture. I remember the first time I looked through our wedding pictures and came across one of me standing with Dad at the back of the church. The photographer caught the moment just before we started our walk down the aisle. Dad hadn’t said much as we stood there together, but the look captured on his face was worth more than a thousand words.

Looking again at Aunt Pat’s tribute, I’m reminded how I searched for pictures of my parents after each passed. There were more pictures of Dad than of Mom, partly because he lived longer but mostly because, like me, she preferred to be behind the camera. I may not care for photographs of myself, but I realize now that my dislike does not diminish their importance. Photographs are an important part of our memories, an integral part of the lifetime link to our loved ones and our history. Photographs help tell our stories.

With the advent of the smartphone and social media, one can take a picture, add a caption, and share with family and friends in a moment’s time. After years of failed attempts, I recently posted my first “selfie.” I was amazed, and encouraged, by the response.

Perhaps next time I’ll pose by the piano.

Copyright 2017 Sherry Hathaway. All rights reserved.