Dirty faces.
Muddy Hands.
Adventure.
Heroes.
The power of their dreams allow them to stretch the boundaries of this fragile existence known as life – and see things as they can be.
Showing posts with label boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boy. Show all posts
Friday, June 17, 2011
Photoshoot – Superheroes & Imagination
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Little boys.
Dirty faces.
Muddy Hands.
Adventure.
Heroes.
The power of their dreams allow them to stretch the boundaries of this fragile existence known as life – and see things as they can be.
Dirty faces.
Muddy Hands.
Adventure.
Heroes.
The power of their dreams allow them to stretch the boundaries of this fragile existence known as life – and see things as they can be.
Labels:
boy,
photoshoot,
superhero,
Superman
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Bedtime Stories
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When my friend’s son, Tanner, was about four years old, I started telling him bedtime stories. I don’t remember how this little tradition came to be, it just did. Tanner would burrow down deep into his blankets and watch me with silent, shining eyes; he’d anxiously wait to find out what adventures we’d find ourselves embarking upon, as the shadows in the room danced about us like a kaleidoscope.
There would nearly always be two or three adventures each evening. Sometimes these escapades were spooky, and at other times they were funny. In fact, They included just about everything you could possibly imagine…even a magical bus (yes, shamefully carjacked from Ms. Frizzle) which would take Tanner and his family on the most wonderful adventures where they were attacked by licorice wolves, fell into time vortexes, were offered up as sacrifices to the volcano gods by the pig people, and were even once taken hostage by an old man who lived atop the Mashed-Potato Mountain who planned on turning them all into gravy.
Pure awesomeness.
I looked forward to telling these tales every time I went to visit, because I’d never know what was going to happen next in the story; that was for Tanner to control. Periodically I’d stop and ask, “So, Tanner, what happens next?” It was at this point that Tanner would think for a second, and then add the next twist to the plot, meaning the story might take a completely different turn altogether. We both loved these stories, the stories we wrote together.
It was always a lot of fun.
Over the years on subsequent visits, Tanner just couldn’t seem to wait until bedtime so that I would tell him another trove of endless chronicles; one storyline melding into the other, turning them into one continuous saga spanning over the years all the way back to when he was just four years old.
What can I say? Stories can be captivating.
This year, Tanner turned eleven. It’s now been seven years since that first night I started to tell him bedtime stories; and this past week, I found myself driving up to their house for a weekend visit. Tanner and his brothers were excited that I had come to visit and I went along to watch them at football practice, cheered them on while fishing at the reservoir, took part as we shot rifles out in the desert, motorcycled across the landscape of the Transcontinental Railroad, and sat outside watching the Perseid—meteors blazing across a blackened ocean with fiery trails igniting the nighttime sky.
I won’t lie. This past weekend I started to wonder just what would happen to bedtime stories now with Tanner beginning intermediate school. Like I said before, he’s growing up…and I didn’t know what to expect the first night I was there.
10:45 P.M.
The boys were told to get ready for bed. As they headed downstairs to brush teeth and climb into pajamas, Tanner cried out, “But I still haven’t had bedtime stories yet!”
My heart just about melted.
That night, the downstairs glowed with the power of imagination as we embarked on yet another journey to the far-reaches of outer space—this time joined by Tanner’s little brother, Braden, for the first time.
After nearly thirty minutes of adventures, I bid the boys goodnight and turned off the lights. I stood by the door for a second or two in thought. I wondered just how much longer Tanner would want me to tell him these bedtime stories. Would it be another few months? A year? Three years?
Time would undoubtedly tell.
My mind careened reminiscently over the span of moments thus far. I could only wonder just what fate had in store. It was then that the question I’ve been diligently asking for the past seven years came to mind—and I realized that from this point on, it would be entirely up to Tanner. However, even when the bedtime stories do end—which they undoubtedly one day will—we will continue to write different adventures together and the journey will continue
I now find myself posing the selfsame question: “So, Tanner, what happens next?”
BTW, I am posting over today over at Four Perspectives with An Open Letter.
When my friend’s son, Tanner, was about four years old, I started telling him bedtime stories. I don’t remember how this little tradition came to be, it just did. Tanner would burrow down deep into his blankets and watch me with silent, shining eyes; he’d anxiously wait to find out what adventures we’d find ourselves embarking upon, as the shadows in the room danced about us like a kaleidoscope.
There would nearly always be two or three adventures each evening. Sometimes these escapades were spooky, and at other times they were funny. In fact, They included just about everything you could possibly imagine…even a magical bus (yes, shamefully carjacked from Ms. Frizzle) which would take Tanner and his family on the most wonderful adventures where they were attacked by licorice wolves, fell into time vortexes, were offered up as sacrifices to the volcano gods by the pig people, and were even once taken hostage by an old man who lived atop the Mashed-Potato Mountain who planned on turning them all into gravy.
Pure awesomeness.
I looked forward to telling these tales every time I went to visit, because I’d never know what was going to happen next in the story; that was for Tanner to control. Periodically I’d stop and ask, “So, Tanner, what happens next?” It was at this point that Tanner would think for a second, and then add the next twist to the plot, meaning the story might take a completely different turn altogether. We both loved these stories, the stories we wrote together.
It was always a lot of fun.
Over the years on subsequent visits, Tanner just couldn’t seem to wait until bedtime so that I would tell him another trove of endless chronicles; one storyline melding into the other, turning them into one continuous saga spanning over the years all the way back to when he was just four years old.
What can I say? Stories can be captivating.
This year, Tanner turned eleven. It’s now been seven years since that first night I started to tell him bedtime stories; and this past week, I found myself driving up to their house for a weekend visit. Tanner and his brothers were excited that I had come to visit and I went along to watch them at football practice, cheered them on while fishing at the reservoir, took part as we shot rifles out in the desert, motorcycled across the landscape of the Transcontinental Railroad, and sat outside watching the Perseid—meteors blazing across a blackened ocean with fiery trails igniting the nighttime sky.
I won’t lie. This past weekend I started to wonder just what would happen to bedtime stories now with Tanner beginning intermediate school. Like I said before, he’s growing up…and I didn’t know what to expect the first night I was there.
10:45 P.M.
The boys were told to get ready for bed. As they headed downstairs to brush teeth and climb into pajamas, Tanner cried out, “But I still haven’t had bedtime stories yet!”
My heart just about melted.
That night, the downstairs glowed with the power of imagination as we embarked on yet another journey to the far-reaches of outer space—this time joined by Tanner’s little brother, Braden, for the first time.
After nearly thirty minutes of adventures, I bid the boys goodnight and turned off the lights. I stood by the door for a second or two in thought. I wondered just how much longer Tanner would want me to tell him these bedtime stories. Would it be another few months? A year? Three years?
Time would undoubtedly tell.
My mind careened reminiscently over the span of moments thus far. I could only wonder just what fate had in store. It was then that the question I’ve been diligently asking for the past seven years came to mind—and I realized that from this point on, it would be entirely up to Tanner. However, even when the bedtime stories do end—which they undoubtedly one day will—we will continue to write different adventures together and the journey will continue
I now find myself posing the selfsame question: “So, Tanner, what happens next?”
BTW, I am posting over today over at Four Perspectives with An Open Letter.
Labels:
Best-Deep,
boy,
memories,
stories,
traditions
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Somebody Loves You...
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A few weeks ago I challenged my class to be kind—anonymously. This idea came from a book titled, “Somebody Loves You, Mr. Hatch.”
The story is about a lonely man who gets a mysterious package on Valentine’s Day with a small note that reads—quite simply—‘Somebody Loves You.’ Not wanting to spoil the story, I will forbear an abridgment.
I challenged my class to do an anonymous act of service for somebody else, and then write about it in their journals. With this charge, the kids set out for a weekend fraught with boxes of Valentines from each other, and overloaded on a sugar high.
The new week came.
As I was reading the kids’ journal entries the following Tuesday, I was greeted with a myriad of service opportunities, including unloading dishwashers, making beds, writing notes of kindness, and many other secret acts of love. But there was one entry that really hit home; it was written by a certain boy who’d made it a point to befriend a neighbor a year ago, one who could—quite easily—be described as a ‘cantankerous old codger.’ According to this boy, the elderly man would yell at kids, swear, scream at the neighbors, and in general had a bad attitude toward life and all those around him.
The boy wrote about how a year ago he’d bought a cupcake for the man, when he’d found out it was his birthday. When he knocked on the door, the man screamed at him. The boy ran home, crying because of the coarse mannerisms of his neighbor.
Yet, the boy did not give up.
Several more times the boy put items on the man’s porch and ran. Small gifts that would be gone the next time the boy went by the house.
When Christmas came, the boy bought a small six-inch tree from the dollar store. He left this meager gift on the man’s porch. As he put it down, he knocked on the door and ran away to hide.
He was caught.
The man called the boy back, and asked him to come in. It was on that day that the man told the boy that something had changed for him…that he appreciated all the things the boy had been doing for him. And also that he was sorry for the way in which he’d behaved before.
And so came an unlikely friendship between a ten year-old boy and a seventy year-old man, two individuals whose lives spanned three generations.
“He’s my friend now,” wrote the boy. “He was really nice after that, and sometimes we’d have hot chocolate at his house or play a game of checkers.”
It was this man for whom my student decided to do his act of kindness for.
It started off with a card, a small Valentine, and a tiny box with chocolates in it. The boy went on to write about how he’d planned to deliver this small token of affection and friendship when there was a knock on his door.
It was the man.
In the elderly man’s hand he held the little Christmas tree the boy had given him months before. He told the boy that he was moving to a rest home, and he wanted to return the tree to him. He then went on to tell the boy how much he’d come to appreciate and love him. He also thanked him for not giving up.
The old man left, and the boy was sad—but hopeful as well.
“I have a good friend.” The boy wrote of the elderly gentlemen. “Somebody who used to be a grumpy old man, but who isn’t anymore.”
Service with a smile.
Kindness given without thought of return.
A boy—only ten years old—who’d made a difference for someone else in the world around him.
Now the challenge goes out to you, my friends. I would like to issue the same charge I did for my class. I challenge you to go out and do an anonymous act of service for somebody else, and come back to tell us what it was. However, since this is anonymous, please leave your comment as ‘anonymous’ so that we don’t know exactly who you are.
You never know just how far that simple, little act will carry. Or the power that kindness might have on somebody else.
photo from Masterfile.com
The story is about a lonely man who gets a mysterious package on Valentine’s Day with a small note that reads—quite simply—‘Somebody Loves You.’ Not wanting to spoil the story, I will forbear an abridgment.
I challenged my class to do an anonymous act of service for somebody else, and then write about it in their journals. With this charge, the kids set out for a weekend fraught with boxes of Valentines from each other, and overloaded on a sugar high.
The new week came.
As I was reading the kids’ journal entries the following Tuesday, I was greeted with a myriad of service opportunities, including unloading dishwashers, making beds, writing notes of kindness, and many other secret acts of love. But there was one entry that really hit home; it was written by a certain boy who’d made it a point to befriend a neighbor a year ago, one who could—quite easily—be described as a ‘cantankerous old codger.’ According to this boy, the elderly man would yell at kids, swear, scream at the neighbors, and in general had a bad attitude toward life and all those around him.
The boy wrote about how a year ago he’d bought a cupcake for the man, when he’d found out it was his birthday. When he knocked on the door, the man screamed at him. The boy ran home, crying because of the coarse mannerisms of his neighbor.
Yet, the boy did not give up.
Several more times the boy put items on the man’s porch and ran. Small gifts that would be gone the next time the boy went by the house.
When Christmas came, the boy bought a small six-inch tree from the dollar store. He left this meager gift on the man’s porch. As he put it down, he knocked on the door and ran away to hide.
He was caught.
The man called the boy back, and asked him to come in. It was on that day that the man told the boy that something had changed for him…that he appreciated all the things the boy had been doing for him. And also that he was sorry for the way in which he’d behaved before.
And so came an unlikely friendship between a ten year-old boy and a seventy year-old man, two individuals whose lives spanned three generations.
“He’s my friend now,” wrote the boy. “He was really nice after that, and sometimes we’d have hot chocolate at his house or play a game of checkers.”
It was this man for whom my student decided to do his act of kindness for.
It started off with a card, a small Valentine, and a tiny box with chocolates in it. The boy went on to write about how he’d planned to deliver this small token of affection and friendship when there was a knock on his door.
It was the man.
In the elderly man’s hand he held the little Christmas tree the boy had given him months before. He told the boy that he was moving to a rest home, and he wanted to return the tree to him. He then went on to tell the boy how much he’d come to appreciate and love him. He also thanked him for not giving up.
The old man left, and the boy was sad—but hopeful as well.
“I have a good friend.” The boy wrote of the elderly gentlemen. “Somebody who used to be a grumpy old man, but who isn’t anymore.”
Service with a smile.
Kindness given without thought of return.
A boy—only ten years old—who’d made a difference for someone else in the world around him.
Now the challenge goes out to you, my friends. I would like to issue the same charge I did for my class. I challenge you to go out and do an anonymous act of service for somebody else, and come back to tell us what it was. However, since this is anonymous, please leave your comment as ‘anonymous’ so that we don’t know exactly who you are.
You never know just how far that simple, little act will carry. Or the power that kindness might have on somebody else.
photo from Masterfile.com
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Life Session
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There is something to be said of children; of their ability to laugh, to smile, and to simply be. This past Saturday, when the November snows began to fall from the heavens and the beleaguered winds found themselves chasing the last few scattered leaves down empty streets, I found myself sheltered behind the lens of my camera—the place I love to be.
I had the opportunity to capture moment in time; a Life Session of one wonderful—and unforgettable—little boy.
May you enjoy viewing these images as much as I did while capturing them.
“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.”
—Tom Stoppard
There is something to be said of children; of their ability to laugh, to smile, and to simply be. This past Saturday, when the November snows began to fall from the heavens and the beleaguered winds found themselves chasing the last few scattered leaves down empty streets, I found myself sheltered behind the lens of my camera—the place I love to be.
I had the opportunity to capture moment in time; a Life Session of one wonderful—and unforgettable—little boy.
May you enjoy viewing these images as much as I did while capturing them.
Labels:
boy,
photography,
photoshoot
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Yellow Rooms, distant canyons, & facial hair
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I must preface this post with the message that this experience occurred some four months ago. However, due to other things far more pressing in my life, it became lost—buried in a sea of documents on a laptop—only to be rediscovered again tonight as I was poking around in search of something else.
I present it now—four months late. But as the saying goes, it is better late than never.
So, please imagine that I am down in Hurricane, Utah at the present moment…summer is just beginning and a whole lifetime of adventures await…
The light knock sounded on the door of the ‘yellow room’ this morning; I say the yellow room because that is the color of the room which I’m staying…bright, and cheery. Like a dear friend which eagerly awaits your arrival; I could say the same of the Monk Family—much more like my own family than simply friends, but I digress.
The knock sounded followed by the nervous voice, “Are you awake?”
The door cracked open just a portion; enter ten year-old Tanner, youngest mancub of said ‘family,’ asking if I would be willing to take a hike to the local canyon, ‘Three Falls.’
He’d been asking since yesterday, so within ten minutes said boy and I were hiking along the street, backpacks and water bottles in tow, ready to conquer not just one or two, but all three falls of the valley at road’s end.
As we came to the mouth of the ravine, the sun shone in some places, while not in others. The aqueduct built years before for the overflow of water from the ravine was slightly reminiscent of fortress battlements.
“I sometimes come up here and pretend that this is a castle,” Tanner admitted. “I imagine that I’m defending it from invaders like Orcs.”
We made our way up the steep hillsides littered with loose stones and precarious ledges as we ascended the way to three falls.
“I like it here,” Tanner said as we stopped for a water break sometime later. “It’s quiet.”
As if in reply to his words, the lamenting wind began to blow through the jags of stone and heave a long, melodious sigh—as if hopeful to whisper its secrets to those with ears attuned to listen.
As we climbed higher, the sun rose above us, waxing everything over with its warm rays. When I climbed down to a certain part of two falls to investigate its safety, Tanner waited at the top. As I made the arduous climb back to the promontory where Tanner awaited I made a request, “Tanner…I need some music to help me climb. Give me a soundtrack, boy!”
To this, Tanner promptly started to belt out:
“Right now you can hardly breathe…
But you can do it just.know.that.I.believe…
Then that’s all you really need
So come on, I’ll make you strong…it’s time to turn it up, GAME ON!”
Sung like a true ten year-old who loves High School Musical.
And with that brief harmonious interlude, we continued on our venture up the desolate gorge. As we walked, Tanner asked, “I was wondering, when do people go through puberty?”
Thinking that this was really a subject best broached by parents, I decided to give only the barest of answers to questions he might ask, and deflect the rest of them to his mom and dad.
“It’s different for everybody,” I said. “For some people, it starts when they’re ten or eleven, for others it’s even later like fifteen or sixteen. However, it usually starts somewhere around twelve.”
He quietly mulled this over for a minute or two as we trudged along.
“You know why I’m excited for puberty?”
I had to be honest, I had no idea. I couldn’t remember being excited about anything when it came to puberty when I was a kid; nothing that is unless you counted getting taller.
Tanner leaned in close and whispered, “Sideburns.”
“Sideburns?”
“Yeah,” he rubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’d like to have some sideburns.”
Once again, the mancub surprises me
I present it now—four months late. But as the saying goes, it is better late than never.
So, please imagine that I am down in Hurricane, Utah at the present moment…summer is just beginning and a whole lifetime of adventures await…
The light knock sounded on the door of the ‘yellow room’ this morning; I say the yellow room because that is the color of the room which I’m staying…bright, and cheery. Like a dear friend which eagerly awaits your arrival; I could say the same of the Monk Family—much more like my own family than simply friends, but I digress.
The knock sounded followed by the nervous voice, “Are you awake?”The door cracked open just a portion; enter ten year-old Tanner, youngest mancub of said ‘family,’ asking if I would be willing to take a hike to the local canyon, ‘Three Falls.’
He’d been asking since yesterday, so within ten minutes said boy and I were hiking along the street, backpacks and water bottles in tow, ready to conquer not just one or two, but all three falls of the valley at road’s end.
As we came to the mouth of the ravine, the sun shone in some places, while not in others. The aqueduct built years before for the overflow of water from the ravine was slightly reminiscent of fortress battlements.
“I sometimes come up here and pretend that this is a castle,” Tanner admitted. “I imagine that I’m defending it from invaders like Orcs.”
We made our way up the steep hillsides littered with loose stones and precarious ledges as we ascended the way to three falls.
“I like it here,” Tanner said as we stopped for a water break sometime later. “It’s quiet.”
As if in reply to his words, the lamenting wind began to blow through the jags of stone and heave a long, melodious sigh—as if hopeful to whisper its secrets to those with ears attuned to listen.
As we climbed higher, the sun rose above us, waxing everything over with its warm rays. When I climbed down to a certain part of two falls to investigate its safety, Tanner waited at the top. As I made the arduous climb back to the promontory where Tanner awaited I made a request, “Tanner…I need some music to help me climb. Give me a soundtrack, boy!”
To this, Tanner promptly started to belt out:
“Right now you can hardly breathe…
But you can do it just.know.that.I.believe…
Then that’s all you really need
So come on, I’ll make you strong…it’s time to turn it up, GAME ON!”
Sung like a true ten year-old who loves High School Musical.
And with that brief harmonious interlude, we continued on our venture up the desolate gorge. As we walked, Tanner asked, “I was wondering, when do people go through puberty?”
Thinking that this was really a subject best broached by parents, I decided to give only the barest of answers to questions he might ask, and deflect the rest of them to his mom and dad.
“It’s different for everybody,” I said. “For some people, it starts when they’re ten or eleven, for others it’s even later like fifteen or sixteen. However, it usually starts somewhere around twelve.”
He quietly mulled this over for a minute or two as we trudged along.
“You know why I’m excited for puberty?”
I had to be honest, I had no idea. I couldn’t remember being excited about anything when it came to puberty when I was a kid; nothing that is unless you counted getting taller.
Tanner leaned in close and whispered, “Sideburns.”
“Sideburns?”
“Yeah,” he rubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’d like to have some sideburns.”
Once again, the mancub surprises me
Labels:
Best-Humor,
boy,
family,
friend,
hiking
Monday, August 3, 2009
Moments that matter
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There are moments.
Moments that occur in our lives which can define us.
It is through these little instances that our lives become intertwined with others, where we mix the colors of our life sketches together for short or extended periods with those which may or may not be family members. It is in these small, perhaps seemingly insignificant moments that we mold ourselves—or even those around us—into the type of individuals we will all one day become.
These are the moments which matter.
I switched on my computer this afternoon and logged into my Facebook account—I wanted to check the activity on the site when I noticed that an old student and boy I’d mentored several years ago had tagged me in a photo. I clicked on the link and was a bit surprised when I was greeted with this image:
I scanned the photo and started to read over the descriptions; as I moved the mouse over the picture, I noticed that names would pop up—squares which had been tagged by people, as friends or acquaintances of theirs who’d fit the description of said box.
When I scrolled over one of the boxes a name popped up I recognized.
The name was mine.
I sat, staring at the screen for several moments in bewildered silence.
I was speechless.
I hadn’t seen the young man who’d done the tagging of this particular image for quite some time; but I thought of many of the experiences we’d had in the mentoring program over the years—all of the good times—as well as the struggles and hardships over the five years I’d worked with him as a young boy growing into adolescence.
I have not been his mentor for a few years now. I have not been his teacher for even more of those years—yet there was something I did which made a difference, something he still remembers.
I am still speechless.
I am reminded of what I said a while ago when someone asked me what my future goals were in regards to my life; to this I responded: I plan to one day take the ultimate photograph, to have a student come back after graduating high school because I made a difference in his or her life, to see each kid in my class feel a sense of belonging, and to get up each morning with a smile on my face and project that into the lives of those around me.
These are the moments…
Moments that occur in our lives which can define us.
It is through these little instances that our lives become intertwined with others, where we mix the colors of our life sketches together for short or extended periods with those which may or may not be family members. It is in these small, perhaps seemingly insignificant moments that we mold ourselves—or even those around us—into the type of individuals we will all one day become.
These are the moments which matter.
I switched on my computer this afternoon and logged into my Facebook account—I wanted to check the activity on the site when I noticed that an old student and boy I’d mentored several years ago had tagged me in a photo. I clicked on the link and was a bit surprised when I was greeted with this image:
I scanned the photo and started to read over the descriptions; as I moved the mouse over the picture, I noticed that names would pop up—squares which had been tagged by people, as friends or acquaintances of theirs who’d fit the description of said box.
When I scrolled over one of the boxes a name popped up I recognized.
The name was mine.
I sat, staring at the screen for several moments in bewildered silence.
I was speechless.
I hadn’t seen the young man who’d done the tagging of this particular image for quite some time; but I thought of many of the experiences we’d had in the mentoring program over the years—all of the good times—as well as the struggles and hardships over the five years I’d worked with him as a young boy growing into adolescence.
I have not been his mentor for a few years now. I have not been his teacher for even more of those years—yet there was something I did which made a difference, something he still remembers.
I am still speechless.
I am reminded of what I said a while ago when someone asked me what my future goals were in regards to my life; to this I responded: I plan to one day take the ultimate photograph, to have a student come back after graduating high school because I made a difference in his or her life, to see each kid in my class feel a sense of belonging, and to get up each morning with a smile on my face and project that into the lives of those around me.
These are the moments…
Labels:
appreciation,
boy,
classroom,
difference,
grateful,
Gratitude,
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Thursday, June 11, 2009
Baseball
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The smell of a worn leather glove.
The cheering of the crowd at a stand-up double.
Sno-cones for sale at the concession stand.
Labels:
baseball,
boy,
photography,
photoshoot
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