“Tell us about when we were little,” my children said at dinner recently. Like most children they love hearing about the funny things they did in their early years. Having photographed so many moments of their lives, I’m the one they see as family storyteller. This particular evening, however, the story well was dry. I told a couple of tales they’d heard before and then drew a blank.
After I sputtered and stuttered for a few minutes, I looked across for help. “I’m Batman,” my husband said. We all gave him perplexed stares. “One Halloween,” he said to our daughter, “you were dressed in a pretty pink princess costume, but you went around telling everyone you were Batman. ‘I’m Batman,’ you said over and over again, all night long.” We needed no more stories to finish dinner smiling, and we all laughed the rest of the evening.
That I’d forgotten this story was incredible, as the picture I took that night remains my favorite out of the thousands I’ve taken of my children. Once my husband told it, I did remember. I also remembered that each of us, as parents, brings something entirely different to our children’s rearing. Either without the other would be incomplete.
Often we come to the table saddled with the burden of carrying out own own part. Sometimes, when we least expect it, a flash restores us to our proper cast, sharing little memories as we work to make our slice of heaven just a little happier than we found it.