My first camera, now his

When I was a little guy, my parents and me lived in the far outskirts of the Twin Cities in Minnesota. Rural landscape, woods all around and dirt roads. Nights after dinner during the summer included long walks down the country roads with my dad and mom, looking for agates in the freshly graded dirt and watching my father take photos with his old Pentax of flowers, sunsets and probably a few of mom and me.

I don’t remember a lot about then, basically earthy smells and ghosted landscapes hazy with dust.

I’m not sure when it happened but at some point my dad noticed that I spent a lot of time wanting to play with his camera. Now that I’m a dad myself I can guess that this probably manifested as a persistent nagging that eventually drove my dad to act, but in the end the result was something unexpected and special.

One day, probably when I was 3 or 4 years old my dad presented me with my own camera. A wood one, made of a few blocks of wood, a few screws and a leather string. Crude in it’s simplicity, but I didn’t care, I now had my own camera to explore the world.

Today I vaguely remember carrying it. But I do remember the object itself. In fact today my own son plays with that same camera. Granted today, when he can charm daddy enough, he does get to snap a few shots from my 7d dslr, but those are few and far between, and the old block camera is there for any quick shots that are needed.

I just smile every time I see my son pick up that assembly of wood blocks and fire off a few dozen imaginary photos. If anything I just enjoy the chance to have a look into the past. Watching what it must have been like for my father to watch me.

Reflections have a way of spanning time. If you let them.