The Fine Art of Being in a Picture

Over the holidays, I attempted to take a picture of my mother with my kids.  I don't think I'm out of line, attempting to take a picture of my Mom.

We don't have many pictures of her, and I do like to take pictures of the kids together.  What is better than a picture of the kids with their grandmother?  She is 80 years old.  I don't know how long she is going to be with us, but I would like to have pictures of her while she is still with us and in good health.

Turns out, quite a lot is wrong with that thought.

My mother yelled at me for taking her picture.  I have two shots of her with her hand over her face, and one with, well, shall we say a "one fingered salute"? 

That bothered me no end.  All I want are some pictures of my Mom with the kids. 

Last week, I was sorting through yet another old batch of pictures that were sent to me by one of my cousins, and I found pictures from his parent's 25th wedding anniversary, held way back in 1979.
Looking through those pictures made me smile.  I looked back at pictures of my Aunts and Uncles who are all gone now.  Looking at their goofy grins, making faces, hugging their kids, and posing with their relatives brought back such joyful memories.  I couldn't help but look at the pictures of my cousins.  We were all in our teens back then.  Tall, thin, and gangly, we were quite a motly crowd.  Sporting our bell bottoms, funky hair, and odd color choices.. we thought we were the bomb.  I laughed until I cried at some of the memories those pictures stirred up.

And then, I saw it.  A picture that just stopped me dead in my tracks.  It was a picture of my mother.  The party was held in the church basement, with the pastor attending.  Standing in the middle of a circle of chairs of people was my mother, bent over and mooning the camera.  Not wanting her picture taken, she had chosen to moon the entire party.  At someone's 25th anniversary party.  What a horrible way to be remembered.  When I called my cousin to thank him for the pictures, I asked him about the picture of my mom. 

"You know that picture always bothered Mom."  he said.  "All she wanted was a picture of the entire family so that she could look back on it an smile at the memory.  And your Mom, well, what can I say?"

I apologized profusely, and he responded.  "It's not your fault, honey.  Your Mom is who she is.  It's just a shame that she doesn't want anyone to remember her for the good parts of her life."

I carried that thought with me through the week.

This week, I was taking pictures at a Girl Scout event.  I saw a friend I haven't seen in a couple of months, and after we hugged and talked, I took a picture of her. 

I now have a beautiful picture of my beautiful friend with the most amazing smile on her face.  To me, she looks beautiful.  I can't get over how happy she looks.  When I do think of her, all I see is her gentle spirit and the peace and grace on her face. 

And so, when my daughter went to take my picture today with one of our cats, I had to think twice.
My hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and I'd just finished scrubbing the bathroom.  I took a deep breath, grabbed the cat, and smiled for the picture.

I don't think it's the best picture of me, but my daughter loves it.  "It's you Mom!  Don't you see the way your eyes crinkle when you smile?  And you've got a little dimple on one side!  Oh I love that dimple!"

And it made me realize something.  It's not about how good or bad I look in the picture.  It's about the memory that the picture is for someone else.  It is how they see me, for good, or for bad.  It is up to me to be graceful about having my picture taken, and to be who I am when they take the picture.

What right do I have to take that memory away from someone else?