My dad was only 47 when he died, and that was 36 years ago now. His birthday and Father's Day are very close together, so last Sunday my Mom put flowers honoring Dad on the altar at the church she attends in Ohio.
I often think about my parents, and about what they’ve given me: Good eyesight, for one thing (more than a little important for a photographer)... and a brain capable of empathy and compassion.
It happened that I had a back-and-forth email conversation this week with a potential wedding client, a bride-to-be who wrote that she liked my photographs very much, but had one question: Do I ever bring a female assistant along with me when I shoot weddings?
The inference, I guess, was that a female might better-relate to the bride’s experiences on her wedding day, and I have to admit that question is one I’ve wondered about myself (you probably already know that I’m a curious fellow, and I think...then ponder...then ruminate further on nearly every aspect of my photographic art.)
My conclusion? Well I come back to two words I used above: Empathy and compassion. My folks nurtured those qualities in me as I grew up, and at a young age I felt comfortable around many different kinds of people. My parents were also quite supportive of my career as a photojournalist, which of course further expanded my human horizon a thousand-fold.
This weekend, as I do so often, I’ll spend my Saturday with a bride and groom on their wedding day (and I might add here that nothing at the wedding will be as challenging as the varied and often just plain weird assignments I did in my newspaper years.) Sunday my friends in the Seattle Tibetan community have invited me to an event at their monastery and I’ll be there with them, taking pictures as always.
So this is me: Not a female or a bride, not Tibetan, but a human being with a camera who can show up most anywhere and somehow just seem to fit in.
And always -- but particularly on this Father's Day weekend -- I feel fortunate to say that I'm one of Mom and Dad’s kids.
