So many times you read about a photographer and you hear that they started taking pictures when they were 5. Their Mom or Dad gave them a camera and they have been taking pictures ever since. Interestingly I am not one of those people. I wasn’t fortunate enough to be a 5 year old Ansel Adams capturing the “moments” down at the local playground. My interest in photography wasn’t a childhood dream that I longed for through years of dead end jobs. In some sense, I honestly think that photography found me. A few years ago my girlfriend’s father lost a long grueling battle with cancer. He was quite a man and was loved by many. Interestingly this man enjoyed taking pictures. He was more than a point and shooter; he enjoyed the pictures that were produced with good equipment. I don’t think I would call it his passion, but something that he enjoyed. I can’t recollect exactly how it came to be, but somehow my girlfriend ended up with his camera.
Fast forward a few years and….
That girlfriend is now my wife, pregnant with our first child, and I am venturing into the photography business (capturing memories as often as I can).
And that camera, the one that belonged to a man I will forever admire, sits on the corner of my desk. It is a constant reminder of the moments it has captured and the memories it has helped create. It sits here waiting to capture the next chapter, to tell the next story. It sits here waiting for a little girl, so that one day she can see the story her Grandpa is still writing for her from heaven…
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