I have never been a fan of family photos. You know the ones, you're at your grandma's birthday dinner or your uncle's retirement bash and all of a sudden the party stops while EVERYONE gets a camera out and takes a million versions of the same picture. Actually, let me rephrase that, I never had an opinion on family photos other than irritation until my son was born and annoyance level was raised a few notches.
Tiny children seem to have a threshold for being sociable so when my boy was little I would graciously bow out of any family party when I could see the grumpiness levels rising in him. And as I would announce mine and his departure the same thing would ALWAYS happen. 'Oh, we'll just take some pictures before you go' would reverberate round the room as people reached for their cameras. 'No wankers' I would be furiously thinking, 'I have a child who is tired/hungry and I am knackered and we want to go home. This could of been done hours ago.' Outwardly I would do the nearest I could manage to a smile* and there would be endless repetitions of similar poses with different groups of people while the boy would become increasingly agitated and I could feel my blood pressure rising.
Obviously as the boy got older this was much less of a problem but it was too late, the damage was done and my hatred for having my picture taken and indeed of taking pictures was pretty much set in stone.
But fast forward several years and things change. Just over a year ago I managed a whole hour of posing - well, it was my wedding and with the boy moving down south in a month or so suddenly everything is a Kodak moment. It was his sports day on Wednesday and there I was proud as punch in the front row like some paparazzi taking endless shots of him and his team.
I shall digress slightly and offer you my opinions on sports days. I remember the excitement of taking part as a child and if only the olympics were based on egg and spoon races or obsticle courses I think the event would be a lot more fun. But as a parent, especially a parent of a child that is not athletically gifted they are torturous, heart breaking affairs. My boy dropped his bouncy egg off the spoon just before the finish line and ended up being last. He wasn't that bothered but I could feel the tears welling up and I wanted to stand up and shout 'WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT A POXY RACE?' I obviously didn't but the worst thing was it wasn't even just my son I got upset on behalf of. Any overweight, clumsy, or uncoordinated child coming last by a mile and I felt terrible. Sports days should be banned under the Geneva Convention.
Anyway, How gutted was I when I checked my camera's memory and couldn't find any of the sports day pictures? I know I am a technical fucktard but how can I get wrong point and press? Somehow I fucking managed. I have however made up for it with several million pictures of the boy and dog, the boy with my mam, the boy eating, the boy standing. You get the idea, now I'm the irritating wanker with the camera.
*grimace. (an ugly twisted expression of a person's face)
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