One unbreakable law of parenting is that your child’s favorite gift will always be something that another kid received.
This past Christmas, the toddler’s cousin unwrapped a small, pink digital camera. The camera was plastic but fully functional, and built in a way that the kids could throw it on the ground without it shattering into a million pieces. Amazingly, this device would have looked like a piece of alien technology a few decades ago but is now being mass produced and sold for $20 on Amazon.
The toddler had barely interacted with a real camera before (she just assumed that phones took pictures, which they do), and it wasn’t clear if she fully understood the concept. What she did understand immediately, however, was that the camera had a button that made a loud clicking sound every time you pressed it. She immediately became enamored with the most annoying feature and spent a good chunk of Christmas morning walking around the house like a maniac snapping photos of everything in sight. Her cousin, thankfully, moved on to bigger and better things.
It was pretty clear to us that our kid enjoyed her camera time, and as a mostly screen-free family, we thought it could be a fun little way for her to toe the line and explore her world from another perspective. Her former nanny loved photography and the toddler loved printing photos with her, so there was already some inclination that she was drawn to the hobby. Mostly, we just wanted to look at her photos. One pair of sucker grandparents later, the toddler was gifted her very own camera.
So without further ado, here is ”A Toddler’s Photojournal: Part 1,” featuring work from my child, aged 2 years, 8 months, along with my written interpretations of her vision.
(Please note that the timestamps are incorrect, as this is a $20 piece of plastic with poorly translated instructions. Please also note that you may have to click ‘read more’ on your email client to see the full email.)
My photography journey begins by palming the lens of the camera. The adults all start laughing and saying that I have to move my hand in order to take good photos. I tell them to kick rocks and put the lens directly on the ground. In total, I capture eight photos of absolute darkness.
The next few shots are actually a series of grown-ups trying to figure out how to use the camera and demonstrate photography best practices. Thanks to these Boomers, now I have a bunch of foot pics. There’s not a lot of positive gained from these lessons, but my picture collection is finally beginning to resemble something other than The Blair Witch Project.
Dada steps in to introduce selfie mode. He is a real menace who never takes things seriously, except for when it’s bedtime and he’s begging me to stop kicking him so he can put on my pants. Lol. Guy is such a narcissist that of course he figures out selfie mode before he fixes the busted timestamps. You’re never going to be an influencer, bud. Give it up.
That gremlin finally gives me some space, so I snap a few pics of my own. The problem is, mom doesn’t want me putting my face on the internet. Lucky for her, I end up taking 10 straight photos of my double chin because I don’t know how to position the camera correctly.
I then take my talents outside. The Pacific Northwest is a wonderful place when it’s not grey, or raining, or icing, or on fire, or on a catastrophic fault line, or full of Californians. Here’s a photo I took of one of the tall trees in my neighborhood. Isn’t it beautiful? If you look closely, you can see the branch that’s going to fall on the power lines during the next ice storm.
Dada said that this photo looks like the start of a Stephen King book. I have no idea what that means, but then he said that he was joking but to also never climb into any strange holes. Personally, I don’t know why anyone would climb into strange holes if they have a perfectly good Calm Box waiting for them at home.
Back inside, I pull the Ferrari out of the garage and take her for a drive. Look what this sucker can do. Nine frames? Are you serious? That’s more boxes than on dada’s TV when he’s losing my inheritance on NFC North games. I call this one “Congestionine,” symbolic of how many months per year I come back with a revolting daycare cold. I can’t wait to pierce that sucker in 15.5 years when I free myself from the shackles of childhood.
This is my favorite pic from the “Look but Don’t Touch” series, featuring items from around my house that elicit the biggest reactions from my parents. I’ve always wondered what would ACTUALLY happen if I played with an outlet, but the fun police always show up on the scene before I can give it a shot. Instead, I’ve decided to torment them with this photo of an uncapped socket, so they can panic search the house and blame each other for negligence.
That’s it for Part 1. I hope you’ve enjoyed my work. It’s exhausting balancing my hobbies with this partially developed frontal cortex, but I’m doing my best.
This is the first step on a slippery slope of raising a Portland hipster that develops their own 35mm film