Some of my earliest memories are of my Dad setting up the slide projector.
He’d hang a sheet over the window, click off the lights, and the room would fill with the familiar whirring and clicking as the slides changed - one by one - each frame a tiny story of a holiday or event, many from before I was even born, yet I loved every single one.
Growing up with a camera always nearby
He was amazing. He loved documenting our lives - first on slides, then on film, with countless rolls sent off to the chemist to be developed, before finally stepping into the world of digital photography. He had always dreamed of owning a Nikon, and when he finally bought his first DSLR, it was a Nikon, of course. I may very well be a Nikon girl for life now because of that. We shared that camera for a while, but eventually it became mine, traveling with me on trips near and far, teaching me how to see, how to frame, and how to capture moments - not just pictures, but memories.
From groans to gratitude
It makes me smile now, but as a child, I often groaned whenever he brought the camera out. There are plenty of photos of me looking decidedly unimpressed - I had, and still have, a very good scowl (also inherited from my Dad)! And yet, those are some of my favourite photos today, because they tell the story exactly as it was. I’m so grateful he ignored my protests and captured the moments anyway.
Even now, as I write this, out of the thousands of photos in our family library, certain images spring to mind - the ones that mean the most to me. Somehow, I have a record of so many of them in my head, and they feel like little treasures I can always hold onto.
My dad and I aren’t in many photos together. It was always one of us taking the picture. But since my boys came along, he made sure to document me with them - little moments on his phone, me playing with them, reading a story, or pushing a swing. He saw the moments, and he wanted me to have them to remember. What a gift that is.
He’s the reason I love photography the way I do - not for the perfectly posed photos, but for the ones that hold feeling.
Photos with feeling
He’s the reason I love photography the way I do - not for the perfectly posed photos, but for the ones that hold feeling. The quiet, ordinary, beautiful moments that tell a story. So if you’re usually the one behind the camera, make sure someone captures you too. Let your children see you in the story. One day, those photos will mean more than you can imagine.
