I remember as a child when the camera was taken out, I was right there in front.
I was ready for my picture to be taken; I’d strike a pose and smile big. I also remember some adults who would do the opposite. They’d run and hide. One of my grandmothers would put her hand in front of her face and yell, “Don’t take a picture of me!” She’d turn her back to the camera. I have another family member who would often ask me to stand in front of her to hide her stomach. I never understood why they did this until I grew up.
I don’t remember the exact moment I started hating having my picture taken. Most likely it was after my first child, and I had put on a lot of weight that just wasn’t coming off. I’d proudly hold my new baby and ask people to take a photo of my daughter only. This continued for a few years.
When my oldest daughter was around two or three years old, a friend of mine suddenly lost her mother.
She was devastated and decided she wanted to make a scrapbook in memory of her mother. But, as she started going through family photos, she noticed a pattern. Her mother was either missing from photos or held her hand up over her face each time a photo was taken. She told us one day during a break at Bible study, “Please let family members take your picture, even if you don’t like it. One day you won’t be around, and those left behind are going to want pictures to remember you by.” I remember sitting there thinking of many of the newborn photos of my first daughter; there were a lot of photos of her but very few of us together.
I quickly changed my mind about being photographed.
I still don’t like how I look, and I still hate having my picture taken, but pictures are often not taken for a single individual. Pictures are taken as a memory of the moment; they are for those who are there, and those who are not there. They are also for our future. I have carefully studied photos of my great-great-grandparents, great aunts, my mom’s dad who died before I was born, and so many other family members I never met. As I study the picture, I often look for pieces of me. Do I have their smile, their nose, or any other quality? I want to make a connection with that person because they are my family.
So next time someone takes out a camera, try to bring out the child in you, strike a pose, and smile big because one day your great-great-grandchild may sit and look at the photograph of you searching for pieces of them. I’m sure you also want them to see you smiling, not hiding behind your hand.