Fatherhood often involves the unforeseen. Record keeping and documentation come to mind, and no, I'm not talking about county records, insurance, SSA, or any other live-birth paperwork that you will have to deal with as those ought to fall firmly within the realm of the foreseen. What I'm talking about are keepsakes and memories.
Perhaps you have always had a quality video and/or still camera on hand and this never really applied to you, but for those who can relate, this is an issue worth revisiting. Since smartphones weren't ubiquitous at the time my children were born, I had neither a quality still nor a quality video camera. While I had a digital camera that took wonderful 1.3 megapixel still pictures, I was without a capable video-capture solution. To make matters worse, I rarely carried my snapshot digital camera anywhere with me because, like all digital cameras from circa 2001, it burned through batteries, had limited storage, and was kind of bulky — in short, it was inconvenient.
Regardless of the lies we tell ourselves, convenience usually wins the day over substance. In my case, convenience came in the form of my inadequate cellphone camera — which was about as useful as backseats in a Camaro: barely sufficient, even in a pinch. Consequently, there are no videos of my children's first moments of life. I do have pictures that (unsurprisingly) have not aged well at all, which only serves to further compound my regret.
Determined to find a solution, I believed I had found it in a video camera (camcorder). I saved up money and pooled resources from my in-laws and we were able to purchase a nice, high-end camcorder for my wife's birthday. I share this experience because it gives me an opportunity to lament one of the worst — if not THE worst — electronics purchases I have ever made. Talk about inconvenient! While it took decent still pictures and DVD grade video with seemingly unlimited storage, it was still bulky and had an incredibly limited battery. Thankfully, my wife used it from time to time despite these shortcomings, but it never became her default option (not even at home), mostly because it didn't fit in her pocket.
Convenience still rules the day and despite the low quality of early generation cellphone cameras, most of my children's best moments were captured with this particular item because it was always available. It was never hard to find and (conveniently) always charged, making it ideal to capture moments of spontaneity. It was at that moment I realized the solution to my problem: invest into a cell phone with the best possible camera. This may not seem like much in today's day and age when practically everyone has a smartphone with a decent built-in camera, but back then, it was an epiphany. I purchased the best smartphone my carrier had available at my next opportunity, which is something I treasure to this day because I have priceless, irreplaceable, high-quality images and videos of my children's lives from that moment forward as a result.
Unfortunately, what started as a necessity has turned into a bit of an obsession. Perhaps we now take too many pictures, because my son's response to when we call his name is "cheese" more often than not. He's frequently correct in assuming that is what we want, so it's hard for me to be too critical of him.
On Easter Sunday when my son was five, he was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table in our living room, just in front of the chair I was sitting in, focused on his spoils from the day. He was so focused, he was hesitant to provide me with anything but a profile view of his right side. My second attempt to get his attention was more assertive, prompting him to turn to me and say, "cheese," simultaneously flashing his trademark "photo" grin only to see I was not trying to take his picture, and instead had something to discuss.
Naturally, it was a funny moment for us, but what made it memorable was how my son reacted. He knew he had made a social goof and was embarrassed by it. Compounding the issue was our uncontrollable laughter and amusement — which only served to embarrass him further. He covered his face with his hands, but that would not suffice, so he resorted to lifting the couch cover and burying his entire head, refusing to resurface until all the laughter had died out.
Poor guy. So this is what it's like to be socially aware.
