Look At Me

Sketch 3 for 1-in-48. Journaling Reads:

“Look at me!” I say this sentence maybe thirty times a day. When you
were little, I could snap tons of photos of you and there was nothing
you could do about it. As you grew older, you were always complacent and
allowed me to indulge myself. But in the last few weeks, you’ve mastered
the art of selective hearing. When I catch you doing something cute or
funny, I run to grab my camera and, in the most upbeat tone I can muster
up, I say, “David, look at Mommy.” And you ignore me. Either you don’t
look up at all or you say, “No picture.”

I should take this as a sign that you’ve had enough, but I don’t want
to. My memory is really bad and these stages in your life are so
fleeting, so momentous that I can’t resist capturing them. I want to
freeze them forever so I can remember. I crave the permanence of a
photograph.

So instead of giving up, I enlist the help of your dad. “Call him,” I
say each time we’re out together and I am trying to get you to
cooperate. “Call his name. No not there, come behind me and then call so
he’s looking up to me.” I know he must think I am crazy, but he
cooperates. Your Daddy is the very best, ever.

Little David, soon even Daddy won’t be able to fool you and before you
know it, I will have to give the camera a break. But, until then, I will
snap, snap, snap.