I Love Pictures #1
Calgary AB
How many times has someone asked you the question: If you could take anything out of your burning house other than your significant other (and pets) what would it be? I’ll always say pictures. Insurance will cover my bed, dresser, clothes, shoes, pots and pans. But no monetary value could be placed on these family gems. I adore looking through these photos. I love this little window into the lives of people long before I was born. The spontaneity, the quirks that are still there, the stories they inspire. Writing swoon happening here.
I quickly dug through the family collection and came across my parents’ college shenanigans, my great great grandparents mischievously laughing into the camera when surely that wasn’t proper, school pictures of my father’s high school sweethearts with little love notes on the back, my grandmother at 16 years of age feeding a cow. You know what is so wonderful about each and every single one? They are all family photos – not a single professional image among them. They are just genuine moments someone somewhere deemed important enough to take a photo of.
I will be doing a few posts similar to this over the next few days. The first is about my father.
Born August 31, 1956. Raised in Harrow, Ontario. Named Karl Bruce Staddon. I knew him better as ‘Karl with a K’ than ‘Karl’ as that is how he checked in to hotels, and made reservations at restaurants. We’ll call him Dad.
After dinner my sister and I would often ask for childhood stories. They varied. His experience with raising a raccoon as a pet, losing a pet rabbit in the furnace, hunting on the way to school and leaving the guns in the locker, killing bees with his bare hands during recess to impress girls, buying used textbooks in courses he wasn’t taking just for the fun of learning, weathering the economic downturn of the 80s, surviving a near lightening strike. All true. Most of them absurd to a child’s mind.
Growing up there was always a healthy respect, admiration and fear of him in the household. A kind of intangible relationship. Then I look at these photos and realize just how human and similar he is.
My dad.
L: My dad and his mother, Darlene (1956) | R: Chasing a farm cat (1958)
L: Under the Swing Tree to the side of the house (August 1957) | R: Stacking cans. This floor is a staple in my childhood memories of that house (Fall 1957)
Reading a book with his two younger sisters and my grandfather (December 1963)
L: Is this not the most cliche Christmas photo ever? (December 1958) | R: Sick with the mumps and still studying (May 1966)
Dapperest little dude ever. Front bottom left. (1959)
One of my favorite things to do when I am at home is to go through my mom and grandparents’ old photos. I love to think of what they were all like at those moments and you just see another side to a person that is hard to imagine. Love this post!
SO great! I know what you mean about the importance of family photos… especially when I recently lost of box of them to a flood and didn’t realize how bad the damage was until shortly after the death of my grandmother. They are so, so precious. (Love the bowtie!)
Such a sweet post, you look so much like Karl with a K.
britt, you never cease to amaze me! you are so deep, mature beyond your years, have a quirky sense of humour, and you have embarked upon a journey (alone, i might add) that we can only imagine.
i am loving your blog. keep up the good work and i look forward to more and more of your journey.
This a great post, it reminds me to keep in mind that the moment of the image should always come before the perfection of it. (At least in my opinion.)