Faberge Eggs

Like many children, while I was growing up, I had I suppose what you would call a typical american childhood. I was an only child, but I had friends, and I often went outside and played, sometimes into the late hours of the night.

One of the things I remember wanting when I was a child was the ability to grow up and be independent; I wanted to explore the big world and all it had to offer. While it all looked good on paper, I was often limited to my street by a lack of transportation and an 8:00 pm curfew.

I'm off to save the world!

My parents always told me "You'll have plenty of time to be an adult, but your only a kid once. Enjoy it now." Of course these words were lost on me... Why, there was adventure to be had! Friends to be made! People to be saved! A happily ever after to be had!

In addition to my romanticized ideology of the world, I was also spoon-fed the typical childhood tales of Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. My mother however received the blunt end of the latter when I jumped up and scared her when her hand was behind my pillow one evening, searching for the baby tooth I had put there.

What I should have done. Psssh, they would've grown back.

In my angsty teenage years,  I never understood exactly why we told children these blatant lies; why we let them live in this fantasy world that we helped them construct. That's not how the world works... why lie about it?

Innocence to me was a Faberge egg... something that looked beautiful, but was essentially useless and would only one day shatter into thousands of tiny shards. During my teenage years, I faced certain personal adversities that sent several tiny cracks throughout my own egg, leading to its inevitable demise. Don't we all though? I think we realize we're on the brink of losing something valuable, but there's nothing we can do to stop it. That's enough to make anyone bitter.

Seriously, what do you even do with this thing?

The fact of the matter is this: One day we all grow up. Nothing lasts forever, including childhood. But now that I've grown older, I look back on my younger years with a sense of wonder. The rose tinted glasses gone, I know that I'm not the only person in the world who has feelings that matter. My parents aren't the perfect superheroes I once thought they were. The law isn't always right, and a little chaos isn't always bad. Most importantly, life isn't fair.

What did it all mean? What was the purpose of it all? I can't tell you really. But, I think, much like Shakespeare said, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." A lesson can be learned from any experience I suppose.

My Faberge egg lies shattered on the ground. I am no longer the starry eyed child I once was. But I was him once. We were all that starry eyed child once. I suppose the memories of childhood are something that, although no longer intact, are still beautiful and precious. So what do you choose to do? Will you throw the shards away in the trash, readjust your tie, pick up your briefcase and move on, or will leave them on the shelf, as a memory of something precious and beautiful that you once had?

Who knows... maybe if you leave a carrot out, the Easter Bunny will take it home and repair it for you some day.

Time Capsules

The other day, my mother and I were cleaning the dining room when we happened upon a basket. Inside of the basket was a bag which, to our surprise, contained this:

Now, I'm assuming that most of the general population reading this will recognize that this is an assortment of undeveloped film (Yes, for all you spring chicken's out there, back in my day we didn't always have digital cameras or camera phones!)

Finding this was like a discovering a treasure chest for me. Most of the capsules as well as the two disposable cameras are unmarked, leaving an air of mystery to what is on them.

Photography has always been something that has fascinated me. While there are many mediums which serve to capture human history, art, emotion and achievement, every other medium of expression, be it painting, music, writing or speech pales in comparison to photography.

I see photographs as something sacred. They are literally a moment in time and space that is immortalized on a piece of paper. There are details, memories, and emotions that can never be replicated again. Places thousands of miles away lie in your fingertips. The dead come back to life. Time stands still.

Do you remember when life was simpler?

Sometimes, I wonder what happens to the old photographs hidden away in a box in the attic of a house of someone who just died. Do people just come in and see no value to the photographs and throw them away? It's painful to think of those moments that were so precious to someone being casually discarded like they mean nothing.

We'll always have that summer...

Sometimes in the late of the night, I've fantasized about opening a photograph museum...  A place where people could bring old photographs without owners or homes, and we'd store them in albums on shelves. People from all walks of life could come in and enjoy the photographs for themselves, guessing just what the photographer and subjects were thinking... feeling... experiencing. They would breathe life into the past, and make their own memories.

Now a days, people snap pictures every 3 seconds and delete the ones they don't want without a second thought. It's part of our digital age to do so, and I myself am guilty of it. But there's something precious about physical photographs... they're so tangible and fragile; they must be protected.

My first goal will probably be to develop the following roll of film. It says "Bobby's B-day, 2-13-99", one day before my actual 11th birthday. This capsule contains memories from 14 years ago... will I even remember the moments it contains? Will I remember the child I call myself staring back at me... his thoughts and dreams? Maybe someday, you'll find his smiling face in a box in an attic somewhere after I'm long gone... if you do, please give that little boy a home.