I marvel at parents who can take 324 photos at a high school concert and post and tag everyone in less than two hours.
I worry that they’re so busy covering the event they’re not really enjoying it.
Oh, sure, I know there’s that big “wall of fame” they’ve got to erect on graduation day. But sometimes, it’d be good to take a mental picture and live with that, instead of the stop-motion animation they’ve created on their cellphone.
I say this because I have huge gaps in my life now, thanks to new technology.
“Get rid of your photographs,” friends told me. “They’re just taking up space in your house. Put everything on your computer,” which, for the most part, I did.
The Cloud – which I’ll never understand nor want to – was supposed to preserve everything for eternity (or until I stopped paying the yearly bill). “Glitches,” however, eliminated a chunk of my photos, never to be seen.
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Then, an external hard drive was supposed to back everything up that was on my computer. It died, taking another swath through my photographic memories. Flash drives have petered out. Technology has become obsolete. Computers get old and, in many cases, I’m left with nothing but memories.
But those memories are fairly strong, particularly since they came at a time when we couldn’t instantly see if our eyes were closed right after we’d taken a picture.
I’m old enough to remember when the first Polaroid cameras were released.
Like magic, an image appeared and we marveled at the result until someone pulled it away to be preserved with some pink goop you had to squeegee across the photo.
Today, of course, those photos have big fade streaks across them and fingerprints from too-anxious subjects. But, at the time, it was a miracle to see pictures that quickly.
Usually, you had to wait a week or two for the drug store to return the photos you took. Some of them were blurry. Some were overexposed. Some were black. And some caught people in the worst moments possible. But they existed. They didn’t disappear in the Cloud.
Before the era of cellphones, taking photos required planning and patience. Because you only had 12, 24 or (god willing) 36 exposures on a roll of film, you wanted to make the most of the moments. One shot would usually have to do. If you were indoors, you had to be sure you had enough flashbulbs, too. And, for safe measure, you probably licked the bulb just to make sure there was a connection.
In the era of flashcubes (check that one out on Google, kids), you were almost guaranteed “red” eyes until Kodak realized it needed to issue “extenders” for the cubes.
The stuff wasn’t cheap, either, so 36 photos usually meant you were 1. On vacation 2. At graduation or 3. Attending a wedding. Of a relative. You wouldn’t waste a picture, for example showing duck lips or a BFF throwdown.
Because frames were saved for “professional” photos, you put the rest in a scrap book or photo album to jog your memory. Three pictures might have been enough to bring back hours of laughter, good food and fun. You didn’t need to shoot a Vine of somebody going on a rant. You knew, just by looking at an expression.
Those photo albums had their drawbacks as well. Often, Scotch tape would yellow and fail to hold the picture. Little black corners would fall off. And, in the 1970s, “self-adhesive” albums wound up leaving yellow lines across pictures that would require hours of steaming just to remove.
In the 1980s, plastic sleeves were more photo-friendly but, still, they didn’t hold 324 shots from one event.
That’s why “the future” (as we called the 21st century) seemed so bright. We could save every photo we ever took in one convenient place and reference them whenever we liked. Multiple platforms could hold unlimited shots.
On paper, at least, it sounded good. And then, we discovered the fault in our Cloud. Now, with that big chunk of my life missing, I realize I’ve got to take mental snapshots of life's big moments. And they work fairly well.
When I want to recall an event, I just close my eyes and find the moment in that vast hard drive in my head. It’s better than a Facebook post.
And it never has anything but “likes” and positive comments.
