Snapshot : an informal photograph taken quickly, typically with a small hand-held camera; a brief look or summary
I realized that we take photographs capturing a moment that we want to remember. I’ve always had a passion for photography. It has also amazed me that with a click of a button you can tell a story worth a thousand words. In my moderate hobby of photography I have all ways wanted to capture those moments that we dear to my heart, those moments that when someone looks at them they could see happiness, grief, love, hatred, family or friends. I wanted to tell the story of where I had been and who I had cared about. With each look at the pictures I have, I had begun to realize that certain family members where void of any photographs, so I started to think. I figured that I probably have one or two photographs of him and that he has the same. So through a few hours of contemplating this and feeling like I was a bad son, it hit me, that the fact that the lack of pictorial evidence of our relationship was symbolic of our actual relationship. I love my dad a lot always will and I will always want what’s best for him. The problem though is that 7 years ago me and my dad well we stopped communicating. I went and saw him less and less as it became clear that he forgot who we were.
When they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they are quite right. My father and I share a lot of the same qualities, we are both the silent passionate type, we both are driven to accomplish great things. The earliest memories I have of my father in me was back when I was a child probably no older than four, he had come by my house to visit me. I don’t remember my parents divorce then, I knew that we were different, but in that instant I saw both of my parents smile and I felt normal, I felt safe and that nothing could ever happen to me. As I began elementary school I had realized that my family was far different than those of the other children, I had begun to realize how different my father was. That was when I first remember ever being scared to talk to him. He called me but our phone conversations where short no longer than 15 minutes, filled with the usual, how you doing, what are you doing in school, any new friends questions. But as I entered 4th grade me and my dad well we stared talking nothing like before, but it seemed like we just got each other and knew what was on each others mind. I began to see him more regularly from once every other month, to once a month, then even twice a month. Even though we lived hundreds of miles apart it was during those years that I felt most connected with my father. It was those years that I was happy to call him my dad. Although I never did call him dad, I have always used his first name. It’s something I have wonder about all my life. I’m not sure when or if I can utter the word “Dad” from my lips.
In recent years, starting 6 or 7 years ago, my father and I started drifting apart. He stopped calling as much, I’ve stopped visiting except once or twice a year. I’ve always thought of my father as a strong man a man that would stand up for what was right, a man who cared about his family and wouldn’t turn his back on them. But ever since his 3rd wife came into the picture the man I knew, the man I loved was no more. Every once in a while I get to see a flame of who he was but very quickly the flame is suffocated by her. I’ve held back telling him a lot of what I felt because I’ve wanted him to be happy, yet in doing just that I believe I have hurt him and myself. I’ve talked to him a few times about things but certain things haven’t gotten to him yet. I just hope when he realizes the mistakes he has made, he can recover from more than just a marriage but the loss of his son.
I love my dad and raise a glass to what he has overcome, but as time passes our relationship withers closer to the point of extinction.