Death of a Camera

It all started in the summer of 2006. Our first offspring had discovered the joy of photography and had become relentless in his search of where the camera was stored. Out of sight, out of mind didn't work anymore as he was on to our intent to keep him from his beloved new favorite gadget. Not that we didn’t encourage his curiosity when in our presence but this particular child only wished to tinker when he and his fascination were alone.

Now, when this particular flavor of our family gets his mind set on something, attempts to curb the obsession are futile. We may delay the inevitable for a brief period of time and in this case, it was just over 2 months. During this time, our camera was in some sort of witness protection program within the confines of our home, often shuffled around in the dark of night. Its predator was a very capable and witty 5 year old fully aware of his parent’s fatigue as offspring 2 was only a few months old. Newborn baby time means the camera makes many appearances to capture the toothless grinning moments of discovery that are gone in a flash.

Avoiding capture during these risky moments of reveal was attributed to dumb luck. We tried to place it in cubbyholes and hard to reach places but, over time, we were getting lazy. One day, our determined sleuth had witnessed me go into the kitchen and return moments later, camera in hand. I should have snuck it into a coat pocket in the bowels of our closet after its use but I had become too confident in my ability to outsmart my firstborn and assumed he probably wasn’t paying attention. We captured the moment of parental bliss, I turned the camera off, and placed it back in the cupboard behind the box of light bulbs, unconsciously smug, knowing it would be safe there.

Then it happened. It was a beautiful day for going to the park and our little man was hounding us. Being a child of very few words, deciphering the code was sometimes challenging but this one was easy.

“Slide. Okay.”

“Would you like to go to the park and slide today?”

“Slide. Okay.” (Grinning)

“Alright, let’s get your shoes and get baby sister ready. We’ll go in a few minutes.”

“Slide. Park!” (Running downstairs)

Gathering gear for an outing when you have an infant is one of the human mind’s most exhausting tasks to process. The “What if” scenarios overwhelm you and you end up taking far more than the otherwise rational mind would allow. In our efforts to gather diapers, wipes, bibs, rash cream, sunscreen, outfits, and whatever else was lying about “just in case”, we took probably more than 10 minutes – plenty of time for a targeted search to bear fruit.

In a last minute rush to get out the door, I was instructed to grab the camera. Subtle clues did not process when I first entered the kitchen. I did not notice the chair sloppily slid back under the island. I did not notice the rummaged appearance of the cupboard upon first opening it. I did notice the camera’s lens was fully extended but it was in the off position. Realizing what had happened, I still hoped maybe it wasn’t so. “Could just be the batteries”, I thought. They never last too long. I located a new box of batteries and replaced the old ones. Nothing. At once, a feeling of realized anticipation washed over me but not the good kind.

We went to the park, camera-less, and had a great time. Upon return, I tried in vain to resurrect our recently departed gizmo. There was confirmation of what we already knew when I removed the memory card. In this case, it had functioned as the camera’s black box recording its final moments in the hands of its captor before it was apparently dropped smack on its lens. The images left no doubt whodunit.