Capturing the Moment: A Crash Course

Growing up in the analog era, I feel like there’s 17 decent photos of me from childhood. Funny baby face, my Kindergarten headshot, cool pose with Mickey at Disney World when I was 11, give or take a few more. That’s it. Who knows what happened the rest of the the time.

In today’s world, kids are born on live stream and each milestone isn’t just in your camera roll—it’s posted on Instagram, shared in the group thread, and stored in the inscrutable cloud. And remember how old photos used to, you know, actually look old? Unglued edges, Polaroid frames, faded colors. Videos were grainy with fuzzy audio. Now? A photo of my daughter greeted me on our kitchen’s digital photo frame last week. One problem: I have no idea when it was taken, so I have no idea which daughter it was.

Every day. Every outfit. Every haircut. Every moment, good or bad. All waiting for the shutter snap and live red light. And it’s so easy. Our phones are attached at all times. Even when we try to be present, disconnected, and in the moment, it’s just a finger tap away.

But for all the effort, all the space in the cloud, all those smiles (real or fake), 95% of photos and videos are meh. No offense to all the true hidden artists out there, but this stuff is more record-keeping than art. My framing is usually whack, I talk over important sound, and I’m certainly no tripod.

But every once in a while, something special happens. Something worth sharing with the world, even with the most stubborn grandpas. It’s a full-frame, sound-up experience, and I highly recommend the extra effort.

I hope you replayed this a few times, because it happens fast. Much like the world of a toddler, I would imagine. I should also note at this time that no children were hurt in the making of this story. At least not physically. Her ego saw better days.

There are a few great things about this video. First, it epitomizes my 2-year-old (and probably a lot of 2-year-olds). Chaotic, intense, innocent, fearless. I had to capture her scooter skills in the driveway, grabbing my phone as she told me about her light-up wheels ("the “dot things” with “magic powers”).

Second, it’s all about the noise of her impact with the garage door coinciding with my reactionary, “Awh!” It’s an unscripted snippet of a second, but it’s unbelievably raw and painful. I felt it in my own face, and I was shocked she bounced up so quickly. Not only that, she continued with her story as if nothing happened, navigating our dog Charlie and the garage turnaround.

Lastly, the experience of moving so quickly across a range of emotions is something that becomes all too familiar in parenting. The pride of watching my kid do something I could never do at two years old. The abject fear of an awful injury to that kid. The heartbeat-skipping relief of seeing her pop up, and then watching the video 14 times a few minutes later, and laughing so hard you’re having trouble breathing.

It’s also the feeling of how I explain to my wife why I’m taking videos on my phone instead of carefully guarding my toddler in a supervision-mandated situation. So I immediately went to delete the video (after checking my daughter for injuries, thank you very much), but I paused. No, I said (again checking for any bruises or cuts, just to be 100% sure). This one shall go to the “Favorites” album.

Some memories were meant to be saved.