Thinking about that chandelier in the dining room, I remembered a photography assignment I had in High School for a self-portrait. Clad in all black with hundreds of layers of black eyeliner circling my raccoon eyes, I set up my picture with my face being lit dramatically by only the lantern bulb from the chandelier. It was a very moody, very serious, very deep (obviously) portrait of a 16 year-old suburban girl who was the most interesting person in the world.
My cat Barry is one of the most absurd creatures on earth, everything he does looks ridiculous and goofy and makes me laugh out loud. But, the best part about Barry is that he takes himself utterly seriously -- he looks like some sort of prancing buffoon, but he thinks he is the king of lions. His old owner described one of his poses as his "Most Interesting Cat in the World" pose. Several times a day I laugh out loud and say, "Barry, how do you take yourself seriously?"
A sixteen year-old girl who has faced no serious hardship to speak of and yet is dressed as if she's in mourning for all of life and sets up a moody self-portrait lit only by the lantern of a chandelier is not dissimilar to Barry, in a lot of ways. How did you take me seriously? But, you did. Or, at least you did long enough to help me with my photography assignment. I went to you to help me take the actual photo and to set up my composition, and you didn't laugh once. You took it as seriously as I did, utterly patient and devoted to the project.
While you teased us endlessly (which has given me a fondness for people who can make me laugh about myself), you also knew when it was important to support us and take us seriously. This was one of those moments. I would have been humiliated if you had mocked my very serious artwork and my very serious process and my very serious eyeliner, but you would never have done so. You worked with me on the composition and you looked through the viewfinder and pressed the buttons on the camera.
You were supportive when you read my self-serious college essays and with all of my photography. And I can picture your face, your smile, it wasn't fake. You were proud. You loved helping me with photography -- we picked out my DSLR camera together, you gave me a zoom lens for it for Christmas one year. You were happy if we were happy, in the most true sense of it. Not to mention that you loved gadgets and reading the instruction booklet on a new toy was like Christmas for you.
You took me to hockey games and hockey card trading shows (??) when I decided I was obsessed with ice hockey. You even found a way to get me a signed jersey from an old client of yours, Bobby Nystrom, who used to play for the Islanders. We built stilts in the driveway one time when I guess I wanted to... what, audition for the circus? You were kind and supportive and truly did just want us to follow our passions and be happy. How lucky we were, as kids and as adults, to have a father like you. Thanks for taking me seriously, Dad. I love you.
Amy
My cat Barry is one of the most absurd creatures on earth, everything he does looks ridiculous and goofy and makes me laugh out loud. But, the best part about Barry is that he takes himself utterly seriously -- he looks like some sort of prancing buffoon, but he thinks he is the king of lions. His old owner described one of his poses as his "Most Interesting Cat in the World" pose. Several times a day I laugh out loud and say, "Barry, how do you take yourself seriously?"
A sixteen year-old girl who has faced no serious hardship to speak of and yet is dressed as if she's in mourning for all of life and sets up a moody self-portrait lit only by the lantern of a chandelier is not dissimilar to Barry, in a lot of ways. How did you take me seriously? But, you did. Or, at least you did long enough to help me with my photography assignment. I went to you to help me take the actual photo and to set up my composition, and you didn't laugh once. You took it as seriously as I did, utterly patient and devoted to the project.
While you teased us endlessly (which has given me a fondness for people who can make me laugh about myself), you also knew when it was important to support us and take us seriously. This was one of those moments. I would have been humiliated if you had mocked my very serious artwork and my very serious process and my very serious eyeliner, but you would never have done so. You worked with me on the composition and you looked through the viewfinder and pressed the buttons on the camera.
You were supportive when you read my self-serious college essays and with all of my photography. And I can picture your face, your smile, it wasn't fake. You were proud. You loved helping me with photography -- we picked out my DSLR camera together, you gave me a zoom lens for it for Christmas one year. You were happy if we were happy, in the most true sense of it. Not to mention that you loved gadgets and reading the instruction booklet on a new toy was like Christmas for you.
You took me to hockey games and hockey card trading shows (??) when I decided I was obsessed with ice hockey. You even found a way to get me a signed jersey from an old client of yours, Bobby Nystrom, who used to play for the Islanders. We built stilts in the driveway one time when I guess I wanted to... what, audition for the circus? You were kind and supportive and truly did just want us to follow our passions and be happy. How lucky we were, as kids and as adults, to have a father like you. Thanks for taking me seriously, Dad. I love you.
Amy
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