Did you know that most of our memories we have as children come from not just what actually happened, but what we recorded.
My earliest childhood memory is of my red tricycle and riding it under my Aunty Marg’s house. There is a photo of it at my mums house. I remember this moment clearly, because I have proof it actually happened.
Imagine not knowing someone important to you. Imagine for a moment, not remembering what your mum looks like. I remember my my mum from when I was little. She was gorgeous, and still is. She had curly blonde hair, and like all that side of the family, had a pretty wicked sense of humour. I see this in the photos we have of that time.
Imagine not existing in our kids memories. Imagine when they are our age, and they can’t remember what you looked like at that time because you didn’t want your photo taken. Because you were too fat, too thin, your hair wasn’t done, your shirt wasn’t right your skin was too wrinkly. We are so caught up in what we look like in photographs, what if down the track, we simply don’t exist to those people that matter the most.
Exist, exist in your family memories.
This is an image of me, pulled from the archives. It is from our Europe trip a few years ago. Now, I don’t consider myself fat or overweight here (and you can’t see those bits anyway). But, I’m 10 kgs heavier in this photo than I am now. I was in Florence, having a trip of a lifetime with my kids.
On this Europe trip I took over 2000 photos in 1 month. I’m in 10 of those photos. I exist for the smallest snapshot of time. About 0.5% of our trip in photos. This photo, slightly out of focus, terrible angle and all is one of my most precious photos, because I’m there, with 2 of my babies (the other was asleep in the pram) and regardless of my muffin top and my flabby arms, I exist to my children.
My son, emotional as he is, looks at this photo with such happiness and love. Do you think he cares whether I have a muffin top (I’m sure he was pretty comfortable laying on it) or if I have flabby arms?
Isn’t it time we stopped thinking that photos of us, are really just about us, how good we look? Maybe we need to think, how this photo makes us feel? How it makes those we love feel?
Isn’t it time we chose to exist in our family memories?