A father, his hands resting on the shoulders of his sons.

This afternoon, I went to the World Press Photo 10 Exhibition in Auckland City. It was quite a spontaneous trip, with my flatmate mentioning she was debating whether to go to a  World Media exhibition, to which of course I was like, lets go! Anything with media and exhibition is bound to be interesting. For my Year 12 prizegiving, I had chosen the book Moments as my book prize, which has every Pulitzer prize-winning photograph since the competition began. I have spent many hours pored over that book, trying to get inside the picture. I find it easy to ignore graphic news footage, but spending time with one single shot of film, enlarged, and often alone and in silence, has deep effects within my conscious. 


I would also say my single biggest regret of high school was choosing biology over photography because I could get Excellence grades. It turns out that I was shocking at biology (largely through lack of effort) and even told the deputy principal on the field trip that I hated it, to which she took great personal offense. I was more angry that she made me go on a field trip on the day of the school ball, but I still had a strong dislike for biology. Anyway, the thread returns that I a) love photography and b) kick myself regularly for turning down the opportunity at high school in order to value good grades.
None of this is why I felt compelled to blog on coming home this afternoon.


The exhibition was extremely crowded. I found myself standing behind a middle-aged father, his hands resting on the shoulders of his two sons, about aged ten and twelve. I was listening as he carefully explained each picture to his boys, the moments of Obama's inauguration, in this case. He asked considered questions: How do you think he is feeling as he comes out and sees all those people? Can you guess where that picture is taken? Washington DC! Yes, Washington DC, that's right. 


He knew a lot about the photos, the current events, what was going on in the world. He explained detail far beyond each picture. My favourite was when we were all looking at a picture of three American soldiers defending. The shot was from behind; one of the soldiers was in his I (heart) NY Boxers and not much else. The caption indicated the soldiers had been taken by surprise. Do you know where that is? he asked his sons. That's (name) Point, where more American soldiers have died than any other. It's in the book I reviewed for the paper last week. There was no arrogance in his manner or his voice. Instead, he carried a gentle presence. The soft touch on the shoulder, the quiet explanations. Perhaps I could say he carried a wisdom in his demeanor. 


I thought, how lucky those boys are to have a father so educated about the world. How lucky those boys are to have a father who cares enough to pass on this care to his sons. And moreover, I thought, I want to be a parent like that. To take the time to explain to my children what I myself am learning and discovering each day.