All at McDonald's
Back to WPPI. My first day. After my life jarring moments with Jesh de Rox, I scurried (I’m sure that’s the most accurate word to describe my movements) with all of my luggage to my hotel to check in. I registered, got my room assignment and key, and went off for the search. Once I found my room, I threw my stuff on the bed, used the bathroom, (too much information?), and was out the door again. It was about 11:30am, and I had a breakfast shake at 4:30am, so I was STARVING. I found McDonald’s (see, Nate--I promised), and got my food. I am not one who really needs to eat with people. And my room was just too far away.
TANGENT: I discovered that being by myself can be therapeutic, and began doing it in high school. I’m sure more on my crazy high school days later, but my senior year I didn’t have a TON of friends. I had a few friends in many different social circles, and just hung out with whichever circle I felt like at different times. And sometimes I felt like not hanging out with any of them. So sometimes I would go to Taco Bell, and didn’t want to go through the drive through just to park in the back of some random parking lot to eat by myself; so I would go inside. And ENJOYED it. I also would go to the mall by myself. I found I could go into any store I wanted, stay as long as I wanted, and try on as many things as I wanted. Liberating. I also found that I spent more money that way, because I had to ask the sales associate for an opinion on how I looked. And amazingly, they always thought I looked good. : )
BACK ON TRACK: Anyway, so I was sitting in a general food court area of the casino, scarfing down my food. Probably looking completely disgusting. I saw people looking at me. I get extra sauce--always. It was messy, I was eating way too fast, and I did look disgusting. I accept that. And things normally would have been just fine, but I had just finished my EXPERIENCE with Jesh. And my self was spinning around, totally off kilter. Tears were coming off and on for no explainable reason.
The first thing I saw: A mother was standing in line with her three children. Two boys. One was probably 5, and the other around 8. The mother was looking at the menu, deciding what to get. I have no idea what was going on with those boys, but I saw midway through some sort of argument. (And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there wasn’t even an argument to begin with.) But I saw the older boy bending the hand back of the smaller one to the point of pain. The boy stopped what he was doing when he saw his brother start to whimper, and of course, his mother look. The little boy just buried his head into the leg of his mom. She put her hand on the back of his head, gave “the look” to the older boy, and continued reading the menu. This was obviously normal. (This was normal in my family, too. I’m not trying to condemn anyone.) But I started tearing up. I couldn’t help it. Seeing this little boy. Completely humbled. Complete stripped down. No pride or happiness to speak of. He wasn’t necessarily going to his mom for comfort, but to hide his face. Because he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be crying in public, but he couldn’t help it. His own brother had done this unspeakable hurt to him. And in that moment, it was disgusting. I just wanted to go up to that little boy and give him the attention that no one else was giving him. He deserved it. I wanted to give him a hug, get down on his level and look into his eyes and say, “YOU MATTER! You are beautiful!” (And I would probably use the word “handsome”, so that he didn’t feel like a pansy.)
What a raw emotion. Children have raw emotions like that. And they are beautiful. Even the pain and embarrassment this little boy was feeling was beautiful. Because it was real. And it had the capability of changing a life. My life. I think that is why I love photographing them. Because their faces and body language holds nothing back. They can’t. And I love that.
The second thing I saw: Obviously where I was sitting was facing the McDonald’s ordering and pick-up lines. Again, a mother with three children. One girl was older, I would say 15. The other two children, a boy and a girl, were both around 4 and 5. I wasn’t paying attention until I heard the teenager yell to her mom. I was probably trying to compose myself from the last episode. But the girl yelled, “Mom! No! Come back here!” I looked up and saw the mother walking quickly, but aimlessly, past me in a random direction with a drink in her hand. The teenager, obviously (but sadly) the acting mother, firmly told the two younger children to stay where they were. She ran after her mom. The children stood, backs up against the wall, right in front of the pick-up area. ALONE! People took notice of this. Pain filled the onlooker’s faces. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that the children looked used to this. Standing in a random place by themselves, with lots of strangers around. Just waiting. For their mom. Who wasn’t there. I was so consumed by this scene that I turned to look at the mother and daughter. Unashamed, I had to watch this play out. I didn’t hear what was said, but the mother quickly walked passed me again. Then the daughter, who was holding the drink. Just then their number was called and they picked up their food. The teenage daughter leaned up against the wall, and chuckled. An obvious defensive chuckle. An “I’m hurting, but I want everyone to think this is all okay” kind of chuckle. I wanted those children. Like, I WANTED them. To be mine. To be safe. Warm. Loved. Again tears started to fill my eyes. I put my head down, abnormally close to my hamburger. Trying to hide the tears. Trying to hide the pain that wasn’t really mine. The pain I shared with those children in those moments.
And what I learned: First, what a BLESSING children are. How real they are. How wise. They don’t even have to say anything, and they can teach us, intelligent, educated, authority-filled adults, a thing or two. Or 20. Or 100. These experiences also taught me how much of a photographer I truly am. Or at least I truly am becoming. Because after these initial moments of wanting to squeeze up all these children and put them in my purse, I wanted to PHOTOGRAPH them. Seriously? Yes. Because these experiences that I had can be shared. Through a photograph. So that us as adults, can reconnect with what it is to be a child. How real it actually is. How hard it actually can be. And then us as adults can maybe help them. Or love them. Maybe even love our own a little more.
TANGENT: I discovered that being by myself can be therapeutic, and began doing it in high school. I’m sure more on my crazy high school days later, but my senior year I didn’t have a TON of friends. I had a few friends in many different social circles, and just hung out with whichever circle I felt like at different times. And sometimes I felt like not hanging out with any of them. So sometimes I would go to Taco Bell, and didn’t want to go through the drive through just to park in the back of some random parking lot to eat by myself; so I would go inside. And ENJOYED it. I also would go to the mall by myself. I found I could go into any store I wanted, stay as long as I wanted, and try on as many things as I wanted. Liberating. I also found that I spent more money that way, because I had to ask the sales associate for an opinion on how I looked. And amazingly, they always thought I looked good. : )
BACK ON TRACK: Anyway, so I was sitting in a general food court area of the casino, scarfing down my food. Probably looking completely disgusting. I saw people looking at me. I get extra sauce--always. It was messy, I was eating way too fast, and I did look disgusting. I accept that. And things normally would have been just fine, but I had just finished my EXPERIENCE with Jesh. And my self was spinning around, totally off kilter. Tears were coming off and on for no explainable reason.
The first thing I saw: A mother was standing in line with her three children. Two boys. One was probably 5, and the other around 8. The mother was looking at the menu, deciding what to get. I have no idea what was going on with those boys, but I saw midway through some sort of argument. (And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there wasn’t even an argument to begin with.) But I saw the older boy bending the hand back of the smaller one to the point of pain. The boy stopped what he was doing when he saw his brother start to whimper, and of course, his mother look. The little boy just buried his head into the leg of his mom. She put her hand on the back of his head, gave “the look” to the older boy, and continued reading the menu. This was obviously normal. (This was normal in my family, too. I’m not trying to condemn anyone.) But I started tearing up. I couldn’t help it. Seeing this little boy. Completely humbled. Complete stripped down. No pride or happiness to speak of. He wasn’t necessarily going to his mom for comfort, but to hide his face. Because he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be crying in public, but he couldn’t help it. His own brother had done this unspeakable hurt to him. And in that moment, it was disgusting. I just wanted to go up to that little boy and give him the attention that no one else was giving him. He deserved it. I wanted to give him a hug, get down on his level and look into his eyes and say, “YOU MATTER! You are beautiful!” (And I would probably use the word “handsome”, so that he didn’t feel like a pansy.)
What a raw emotion. Children have raw emotions like that. And they are beautiful. Even the pain and embarrassment this little boy was feeling was beautiful. Because it was real. And it had the capability of changing a life. My life. I think that is why I love photographing them. Because their faces and body language holds nothing back. They can’t. And I love that.
The second thing I saw: Obviously where I was sitting was facing the McDonald’s ordering and pick-up lines. Again, a mother with three children. One girl was older, I would say 15. The other two children, a boy and a girl, were both around 4 and 5. I wasn’t paying attention until I heard the teenager yell to her mom. I was probably trying to compose myself from the last episode. But the girl yelled, “Mom! No! Come back here!” I looked up and saw the mother walking quickly, but aimlessly, past me in a random direction with a drink in her hand. The teenager, obviously (but sadly) the acting mother, firmly told the two younger children to stay where they were. She ran after her mom. The children stood, backs up against the wall, right in front of the pick-up area. ALONE! People took notice of this. Pain filled the onlooker’s faces. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that the children looked used to this. Standing in a random place by themselves, with lots of strangers around. Just waiting. For their mom. Who wasn’t there. I was so consumed by this scene that I turned to look at the mother and daughter. Unashamed, I had to watch this play out. I didn’t hear what was said, but the mother quickly walked passed me again. Then the daughter, who was holding the drink. Just then their number was called and they picked up their food. The teenage daughter leaned up against the wall, and chuckled. An obvious defensive chuckle. An “I’m hurting, but I want everyone to think this is all okay” kind of chuckle. I wanted those children. Like, I WANTED them. To be mine. To be safe. Warm. Loved. Again tears started to fill my eyes. I put my head down, abnormally close to my hamburger. Trying to hide the tears. Trying to hide the pain that wasn’t really mine. The pain I shared with those children in those moments.
And what I learned: First, what a BLESSING children are. How real they are. How wise. They don’t even have to say anything, and they can teach us, intelligent, educated, authority-filled adults, a thing or two. Or 20. Or 100. These experiences also taught me how much of a photographer I truly am. Or at least I truly am becoming. Because after these initial moments of wanting to squeeze up all these children and put them in my purse, I wanted to PHOTOGRAPH them. Seriously? Yes. Because these experiences that I had can be shared. Through a photograph. So that us as adults, can reconnect with what it is to be a child. How real it actually is. How hard it actually can be. And then us as adults can maybe help them. Or love them. Maybe even love our own a little more.
posted by Kalli at
7:00 AM
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