Security.

Living in the U.S. has provided me with a sense of security. When you consider what happens in other areas of the world, we may not always feel safe, but in most instances we are. The incident with the Russian spies is a good example of what U.S. authorities have in their hip pocket. Sure, these 11 individuals lived in America, and spied for their government, but in the end, they were caught. Now we have the Russian Prime Minister Putin angry about what’s happened, yet admitting that they were in fact spies for his country, and best of all hoping this doesn’t hurt U.S./Russian relations. Okey. Dokey.

For the past week, as I rode the evening train home, I could not help but notice 2 men who walked past where I sat. When you ride the same train pretty much every day, you notice people, and they notice you. It’s a feeling of security---not that they are going to help you if there is real danger, but more of a fact of knowing you are on the right train. At least that’s how it works for me.

What made these two men stand out? They had guns. Yep, guns--- and their shirts said, “security.” I really thought they were looking for some bad guys, but as it turns out they were looking for some bad guys and gals who may have had too much fun at the “Taste of Chicago.” How do I know? I asked them.

I feel safer when I see security on board a train, plane or bus. Not like I am expecting anything to happen, but you never know. I am not too worried about my safety, I am just intrigued if there are any less than desirables really on the train? I am sure there are, but have never really seen a real incident. (Check that, as I sit here waiting for the train to leave the station, one of the conductors got into a shouting match with a passenger. Why? Because he “flipped” the seat around so he could have more room. So there you have it…and incident!)

But this is minimal…

When we crossed over into a Mexican border town last year, I learned a lot about security. The soldiers had machine guns, real ones, and they let it be known if you thought you were going to be funny, or do anything to disrupt normality, you were going to have a very bad day. As comforting as this might feel, I could not wait to get out of there. Of course I took pictures-- from a distance---but we just don’t see this on American soil. I felt a lot better when we were back in the good ol' USA.

The photo above was taken at our local zoo a few weeks ago. As the entertainers on stage did their thing, you can see security was tight. The boy in the picture did not move---okay he did dance---but he made sure no one, and I mean no one, was going to do anything funny. Luckily we were in good shape, but in the end, no matter how good of a job he did making sure no one interrupted, Mother Nature proved she can always win out. There was a downpour in the middle of the performance.

Thanks for stopping by.

The swimmer.

Every summer when I was a kid, going to the pool was one of my very favorite things to do. From early in the morning to dinnertime, we would hang out at the pool, swim and get burnt---unless we were playing baseball or hanging out with friends. I do have reminders on my shoulders of all the days spent at the pool---back before sunscreen was the norm, we didn’t wear anything to protect our skin.

Even though I went to the pool a lot, I really didn’t swim---I used to love to jump off the diving board and of course watch others jump waiting for someone to do a belly flop, jackknife, or cannon ball and splash anyone who was near by. Those were the fun days at the pool in Westbury Manor.

I am sure they had a swim team, I was not on it, but I really don’t remember any of my friends being even remotely interested in getting up early to swim laps and waste the opportunity to sleep in. Who would want to?

But things have changed. Two of our daughters are on our local swim team. They wake up early, well before 7AM, one rides her bike the other is taken by car. Why? Because they like it. It’s amazing when you see how much they improve over the course of a summer; our 13 year old has really developed into a good swimmer. She is long, lean, and has big feet. I am not being mean, she really does have big feet and they help her kick up a storm when she rips through the water. Our younger daughter just chugs along with one objective in mind during the meets, she wants to know, “What place did I come in?” After every race they give you a ribbon--- and this is what she looks forward to. This past week, she got her first, first place ribbon. (Don’t ask me how, it’s a “don’t ask” how many people were in the race scenario.)

Just like other sports, you have parents who believe---and want---their kids to be the next Michael Phelps or Olympic star. They stand over the edge and wait for their son or daughter to come within shouting distance, even though their heads are under water depending on the stroke, and yell at the top of their lungs. If it were up to me, I would encourage them to join the G.A.L. club. (As in “Get. A. Life.”)

What I always admire, and I do try to do the same, is when a parent lets them know they did a good job no matter what place they ended up coming in at the end of the race. During one race last week, Izzy (who is 13 and looks at least 16) was on the starting block---and when the signal went off to start the race, she just stood there. She didn’t jump in for at least a second or two. I laughed because that’s so Izzy--- but I think other parents thought I was being mean. For someone who didn’t start at the same time as the other swimmers, she made up a lot of distance and actually came in second place. When I told her coming in second was amazing based upon her “start”, she said, “My time was 10 seconds more than last time.” I assured her the 6 other girls she out swam would be more than happy to change places with her—she rolled her eyes.

The photo above is of our 7 year old; with her hair tucked into her “Gators” swim cap, and her ears sticking out, she looks like every other kid at the pool---except for the one who is going to carry the blue ribbon home to the parents who are sure they will be seeing them on NBC in the 2016 Olympics. We love summer---just the way it is, if only it stayed longer.

Thanks for stopping by.

First. Born.

If you are a parent, you will always remember your first born. Even if you have many children, the first born introduced you into parenthood---a place I had never visited, knew little about, and was not sure I would be very good at doing. Now, with a total of six children, I think I have a pretty good idea of what this “parenthood” thing is all about.

This past week, I celebrated---along with my son---a milestone. He is now 26, and I have been a Dad for half my life. I know which one is bigger, but just knowing where I stand as a father, is kind of mind blowing to me.

So, let’s focus on the first-born---my son, Jason.

Jase took a long time to come into this world; for more than 30 hours and 20 additional days (past his due date) he burst on to the scene in June 1984. He let everyone know about it the moment he took his first breath. Let’s just say Jason was not a good sleeper, had a ferocious appetite, and certainly introduced us to parenthood whether we were ready or not. He is so different now it’s hard to believe he is the same kid (sorry, but he is still a kid to me).

One of the first things I noticed about Jason as he grew up was how inquisitive he is about what was going on in his world. He loved the normal boy things, boys like: Such as trucks (pronounced “gucks” when he was young), firemen---we would go to the nearby fire station at least once a day so he could look at the fire engines— Dumbo, and sports. But, when it came to sports, this is where Jason and I differed from one another. He liked all of the other teams that I didn’t like. I love the Chicago Bulls, he loves the Milwaukee Bucks; I love the St. Louis Cardinals, he loves the Tampa Rays---he also loves the Tampa Bay Lightening and I don’t really follow hockey. Good thing he didn’t like curling or badminton---I would have wondered what happened?

If there is one thing that truly defines my son, it’s politics; he really knows his stuff. Although suffering a slow start when he was in grade school---for example he described Gorbachev as having a “red blotch on his head” in a paper---he moved on to take real interest in the topic. He has met many politicians in his life-- one of the first was former VP Walter Mondale---who we met in London. Throughout our European journey, we saw he and his family a number of times and Jason wanted to talk to him every time. I assured him he wanted to be left alone. Besides this is a kid who wore a cowboy hat purchased in Ponca City, OK and wore it every place we visited while we travelled around Europe. Think you could tell we were tourists?

So where does this take us?

Move ahead a decade and you will find a man who has followed his passion. He took a journalism course in high school and today he makes a living doing it; he is one heck of a writer and has wisely moved into the digital world just like the rest of us. Now he has taken his passion a step further----no he still likes the Milwaukee Bucks---he has met someone who is showing him what life is all about. Nothing could make me happier.

The photo above is of Jason “Jase” Rosenbaum and his girlfriend, Lauren. To see them together is to know he has grown up a lot from the days when he had a ferocious appetite, cried at the drop of a hat, and didn’t know a red blotch from a birthmark. That’s my son Jason---my firstborn!

Thanks for stopping by.

“The House That Built Me.”

“I know they say you can’t go home again,

I just had to come back one last time.

Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam,

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.”

- Miranda Lambert

For many of us, we don’t live in the home where we grew up. In some instances our parents have moved to another home, down sized, or have divorced and moved on to a new relationship. No matter what the circumstances, there will always be a connection between the house “that built me” and who I am today. I am lucky however, because my Dad still lives in the house that I pretty much grew up in. My Mom and Dad moved into the house in the summer of 1964---six years after I was born.

When I go home I see subtle changes. Sometimes it’s a wall that has been painted, a bathroom remodeled, or something as simple as a new car in the garage. Our house on Heather Ridge Drive is where I grew up, and where my most precious memories of my early life still reside. On the street you will see some familiar names on the mailboxes; after all of these years, there are a handful of neighbors who have not moved.

What’s interesting is when you go home, and of course people are not going to know who you are, and you just take time to look around;all of the memories come rushing in and you visually travel back through time---some are funny, some not, but all are part of who you are today. Every once in a while, you connect with someone from the days when you were being molded; in my case, it happened through Facebook. Cherie Leeser and her family lived on our street, her parents still do---and even though I didn't know Cherie too well, we have a common bond. She's a few years older than I am, still is, but through the process of “increasing the years in our life---AKA getting older”---we have reconnected. As we all know, when you get older, years mean less and less.

Recently Cherie went home to visit her family; like myself and my sister, she lives out of town. The other day she sent me pictures from her trip back to Westbury Manor (The subdivision where we grew up) and it's the reason I wrote this blog today. Since she is a reader of “Snap.Shot,” as is my sister, I sense when we go home we search the home for reminders, connections, and remnants of our lives that still live in the walls where we grew up. Memories are powerful reminders of our past---I love knowing they are a part of the person I am today.

I know there is going to be a time when I will not be able to walk in the door of the house where I grew up. That’s something I am not looking forward to experiencing; but then again, we don’t live forever. This is the house where we sat around the dinner table discussing the day’s events, the yard where my brother and I played catch, and most important this home contains the room where I grew up.

One of my favorite shows as an adult, was the “Wonder Years.” Like Kevin, who stars in the show, I have that voice in my head that tried to assume the future---and like Kevin I was often wrong. But what a life I had in the “House That Built Me;” with an older sister and brother---and a Mom and Dad who raised me through my "Wonder Years" all I can say is, "Thanks."

The photo above is the “House That Built Me.” For the last 46 years I have always known that no matter what point in my life I happened to be in, there was always a place I could call home. Built with trust, care, and love---Miranda Lambert sings it best, “If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave, won’t take nothing but a memory, from the house that built me.” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQYNM6SjD_o)

Thanks for stopping by.

Hot. Dog.

If you know anything about Chicago, then you are probably aware we are famous for our hot dogs and deep-dish pizza. When referred to outside the city, both are known as “Chicago-style.” Yes, they are “Chicago-style,” but they don’t taste the same when eaten in Philly, L.A., or the Big Apple. Especially hot dogs.

Today we are going to focus on hotdogs, because it’s summer and they are really good. Nothing wrong with pizza, but when you have a hotdog with all of the trimmings, you know you have had a really good meal. When I was growing up, we had hotdogs, but I think they were the Oscar Mayer variety; yes they are still around, but my tastes have gotten the better of me and now I only eat the good ones. To participate in the health kick, you also have hotdogs that are made of turkey, vegetables and other ingredients that might be healthier for you, but why waste the meal when you can scrimp somewhere else? People will tell you the vegetables on hotdogs, although processed (ever seen relish so green?) are good for you—don’t know if they are or not; but if you recall back in the 1980s, the Regan administration convinced people that ketchup was a vegetable, so what’s the difference? We still went along with it.

About a year or so ago I went to a hot dog restaurant called, “Hot Doug’s” that served all types of hot dogs; from ones made of veal to chicken sausage to traditional all beef varieties. They also have French fries made in “duck fat.” It might sound disgusting, but it stops there. They were really good as I felt my arteries clog up with each fry I ate---however, one order was certainly enough for me. Probably for life.

Hot Dogs are a staple here in our area. You can find them at restaurants around the city, on hot dog carts, and of course at stadiums---funny thing about it, they all taste really good. It’s not like a hamburger or chicken which have wide taste swings and you really don’t know if it's going to taste good once you bite into it.

But, there is something about going up to a hot dog cart and ordering “a dog with everything.” That would consist of: mustard, relish, tomatoes, peppers and a slice of pickle. Where’s the ketchup? Not on a Chicago style hot dog---you save that for the fries.

Once you have ordered “the dog” you either eat it standing up, find a bench, or better yet, a piece of parcel to sit down and indulge---because in Chicago we know our food, and it spells h-o-t-d-o-g.

The photo above is of the “hotdog” guy. He is located at the corner of Main and Crescent in Glen Ellyn, IL. His name is Joe, has 2 boys and lives in a nearby community. Coming from a background of 10 kids in his family (8 of the 10 are girls), I am sure he knows all about “feeding a crowd.” About 3 years ago, he purchased this business from the “former hot dog” guy---they actually resemble one another---and his business has taken off. I asked him how many hotdogs he sells in an average week, and he told me. I promised to leave out that little bit of information from “Snap.Shot.” but you can be sure, he has a following and he has really “cornered the market” in serving some of the best hotdogs in town. If you are ever in Glen Ellyn, stop by and say hello to “Joe;” probably one of the funniest things on his cart is the container marked, “plain.’ You shake it over your hotdog---that is, just in case you want a plain one. The container is empty and the kids shake it as hard as they can to make sure they have a good ol’ hotdog, plain and simple.

Thanks for stopping by.

St. Louis summers.

Throughout my 52 years of life, I have only spent summer in 2 locations---Chicago and St. Louis. Although both have the same number of days that make up this period of time called “summer,” you would be hard pressed to know both cities are only 300 miles apart---the difference between a St. Louis and Chicago summer is night and day.

We live for summer in Chicago; it’s the time of the year when the weather is not only much better than many other areas of the U.S., but is also the time when we say, “Yeah the weather is really nice here today” and people actually wish they were here to experience it. I think there is a belief we have snow year round; fortunately it melted about 3+ months ago. Although a short period of time, and we don’t say this in January, we are in the midst of some of the best weather of the year.

Then there’s St. Louis. Similar to Chicago, it has bodies of water near by, but not one has as much of a positive effect like Lake Michigan does. The rivers that make up Missouri, combined with warm weather being pushed up from the gulf, make for some truly miserable days. I am not sure how my parents, and my parent’s parents, made it without air conditioning; but I assume when you don’t have it, you have no idea what you are missing.

As a kid we would sweat through summer outside, and when we went inside---it was like stepping into a refrigerator. Maybe not good for your body, but it sure felt good when you were hit by the cold air. There was one time, and I don’t know how I remember this, but our air conditioner broke. When did it happen? In 1970 on the day of the MLB All-Star game; it was the game when Pete Rose crashed into the catcher, Ray Fosse. I remember it because I won the betting pool at my Dad’s office. One of the few times I have won anything.

Other memories of St. Louis summers include: The 4^th of July, fresh corn on the cob (my Dad loves it), home grown tomatoes, and school being out. No matter what the weather, I could always find a smile knowing school was not going to be in session for 3 months. I look back now and think, “what did we do with our time?”

The photo above is a view of the “Arch” from directly underneath it. I have seen many photos taken of the Arch, but not many like this. With the clouds overhead, and windows on top to look out for miles, I really do miss the lazy days of summer; for some reason, I think if I were provided the opportunity to live it again, I would wish for the life I have now---however, I would like 364 days of summer. (One day for the holidays---if only for the kids.)

Thanks for stopping by.

The doctor will see you now.

Let’s face it, going to the doctor is usually not something you look forward to; for me, even worse is having to go the dentist. It all stems from when I was 6 years old and had to have several cavities filled. If that wasn’t bad enough, it was my birthday. Now who would make a dentist appointment on a child’s birthday knowing he was going to have cavities filled---yet alone several of them? That would be my Mom; thanks Mom, it only took me more than 40 years to get over that appointment.

Being a doctor has changed a lot over the years. I remember when they made house calls but I don’t remember it happening too often. If they did I was really young, and as I got older the thought of a doctor coming to your home was about as likely as the shot they were about to give you really not hurting. We know the truth about shots.

I believe I have written about this before in “Snap.Shot,” but please bear with me; it must be our family, but for some reason when pediatricians and dentists were being selected to care for us kids, they must have been in short supply when they got to our name. As kids we went to Dr. Friedman; of what I recall he was about 5’7” or so, had grayish hair, wore a lab coat that of course had his name on it, and really didn’t care how much the shots hurt. His nurse, I believe, took great pride in seeing us in misery---oh what a fun experience.

What could be worse?

Dr. Wallach. As I described a while back, he had 3 things I remember most about him---bad breath, hairy hands, and one leg. Yes, he had had cancer and had his leg amputated; certainly you can’t fault him for that, but he could have had better oral hygiene and the hairy hands were too much to deal with. Oh yeah, he would also not recommend Novocain because he said the cavities were always small and it would be over with a lot faster if he didn’t use it. Thanks Doc, that was one good decision on your part as I lived with it for many years.

Of course not all doctors are mean or uncaring; this past winter when our youngest child was hospitalized, we met the doctor of all doctors. She was a combination of Marcus Welby, MD and Meredith Grey from Grey’s Anatomy---we will never forget what she did for our family.

The photo above is of my dentist, Dr. Edward LeMire. Because of Dr. LeMire’s patience and understanding, he helped me get over the fear of “sitting in the chair.” Of course I don’t love being there, but it’s much better than what I went through when I was young. What’s the biggest difference? Besides recommending Novocain when needed, he wears a shield so you have no idea if he has bad breath and his hands do not need braiding; I have been going to him for nearly 30 years, there is no stopping me now.

Thanks for stopping by.

All (a)bored.

If there is one thing I am not very good at doing, it’s sitting and waiting. I am sure there are many people who are just like me, and thankfully right now my computer has “juice” so I can continue writing “Snap. Shot.”

Today we are having one of our summer storms; how bad is it? There are tornadoes dancing around the Chicago area (as we have learned through our Blackberry’s and iPhone’s) thunder and lightning is flashing and crashing all around us, and all the while we are stuck on this train in the middle of nowhere. We have been on it for more than an hour, and the only reason I know how long it has been, is due to an automated voice that keeps apologizing for the train delay “due to weather.” She has no idea what we are going through---when she recorded the message she was probably nice and dry in sunny San Diego or some place like that.

So here we sit. Fortunately the train today is not crowded; there have been times when people have had to stand for the ride home. Not a big deal until the train ride you are expecting to last 20 to 25 minutes suddenly has a one or two in front of it. I suspect we will have this tonight. If the delay is not bad enough, I am hungry because I had a light lunch.

Long ago, and it’s probably a good thing they are no longer part of the “train experience,” they used to have “bar cars” in the middle of the train. Bar cars were the popular way to have a drink before you "had a drink" when you got home. (These were the "Mad Men" days.")We also had cars where you could smoke cigarettes. One time I mistakenly sat with someone I knew in the smoking car, I don’t think my suit was ever the same; but that was then, and today we sit with nothing to do but play with our Blackberry’s that keep losing their signals, wait for the automated voice to tell us how late we are, and wonder why there is no food on board this train.

The photo above was taken in Ohio a few years ago. This storm had passed through Chicago earlier in the day---I was able to live through it twice as I flew from West to East. The clouds were huge, and best of all, they looked great approaching the barn—I am sure they passed through the area quickly, probably a lot faster than our train is moving right now.

Thanks for stopping by.

Priceless.

From the moment we learn to pick up crayon, pencil or paintbrush, we become the most popular artists in the world. (Or at least at home.) Even if we did have a real Picasso, Monet, or van Gogh, there is little doubt which would have first dibs on the wall or refrigerator.

We have a lot of art hanging in our kitchen and home. It’s on the wall, cabinet and other areas—but not on the refrigerator; we have a paneled unit and we just never have placed anything on it. We did in our last home, but it was a basic white front. (Good background for art.) The artwork changes throughout the year; some of it seasonal with fall/spring colors, we’re always good for a Turkey at Thanksgiving and of course, when Santa comes to town, so does his art. As our kids get older, their artwork does get better. This area did not come from me by the way---I used to paint, but those days are long past and I doubt I could draw a straight line any longer.

What’s amazing about some of the art we have in our home, and what we see in some of our friends’ homes, is how good it is. I am not talking stick drawings; I mean this stuff is good! Our oldest daughter, who is going to be a senior, is really artistic. So is her sister. They have done art that has been showcased at their school---along with other art, schools have to be careful you know---and a photo taken by our oldest was selected to be on the cover of the high school directory. It’s a really good picture.

This past Father’s Day, my youngest daughters made me a card---always better than store bought---and it was made up of drawings they felt reflected my interests. From turkey sandwiches to cameras to a self-portrait of she and her sister. It was really fun to receive---and you can bet I kept it. These are magical moments you just can’t replace.

So what do we do with all of the art? Well, it all depends. If it gets ripped up in the kitchen and can’t be repaired with traditional “Scotch” tape, then it ends up in a landfill somewhere. Some of it has stayed up long after the season it reflected, and my wife does file a lot of it. I know the kids will appreciate her doing this---I have no idea where any of my artwork is from when I was a kid. Actually I do…it’s probably dissolved and in a dirt field somewhere in St. Louis.

When I was younger, a lot younger, I did have a piece of artwork selected for a show; all I remember was when we got to the show, there was piece of paper on it. It had been purchased by a local hospital for their kid’s wing. I don’t remember much about the painting; I do know it was entitled, “The Happy Hippy,”had a big red mouth with black teeth that resembled a piece of water melon and it was pretty weird. That dear “Snap. Shot” readers is/was my 15 minutes of fame in the art world.

The photo above was taken of my youngest daughter holding her thank you art to “Mrs. Keck”---her pre-school teacher. My wife made sure she captured this work of art digitally, because once it was given to Mrs. Keck, it was hers. Whether it ended up on her wall, cabinet door, or wherever she wanted to place it, the pride in her art was evident and I am sure Mrs. Keck knew it. As I see it, famous artwork can be priceless---but never more priceless than our kid’s masterpieces.

Thanks for stopping by.

Girls.

I don’t understand girls; by now I should be an expert at knowing their habits and what makes them tick, but after all of these years, I still don’t have a clue. Just when I think I have it down, and can guess what will happen next, they change and I sit their dumbfounded. Or in my case, looking dumb. What did I do? What did I say? Why do they do what they do? I have no clue.

In the beginning I find girls to be pretty much the same as boys---they like to run, play, color, etc. But then as they get older, and not much older, their habits change. In fact, they change a lot. It can be a situation where they are playing with their sister and are happy and content, and then suddenly they just change their minds and don’t want to do anything that should make them happy. It might be something as simple as playing with a doll, and once they have lost interest in their doll, they want the other person’s doll. They won’t stop until they have it. It’s brutal.

In some respect this is no different than what boys do, but for some reason it just seems different. Move ahead a half-dozen or so years and watch out---the changes that happen are startling. They start using make up, join Facebook and start wondering why they are not as cool or cute as the next person. It’s a wild ride. I doubt I will ever get used to it.

One thing I have noticed about girls, at least since I was a kid, is how they have become much more aggressive in dealing with boys. When they want something, they don’t hide behind some shy look, they go for it. And the days when they would have their friends ask if so and so liked them---those days are h-i-s-t-o-r-y. One of my favorite things to hear about is “dating.” Sometimes it’s just a matter of a few hours, and sometimes it’s a long-term commitment of a week. Last week a boy asked my daughter if she wanted “go out” (this does not mean a real date by the way) and when she said “no” he turned around and asked her friend. She said, “yes” but it was over with by the end of the day. The only people who could truly appreciate this type of commitment would be “divorce lawyers” but the courts could never handle this form of behavior so it’s not likely to become the norm.

The photo above is of 4 of our 5 daughters. Our 17-year old had to work the weekend of our oldest graduation. It’s not often they are all together---but when they are all together, they sometimes argue, sometimes are nice, and sometimes gang up on me; I will never understand girls, and I am really happy I am not one! I don't think I would look good with make up anyway.

Thanks for stopping by.

Father’s Day---for my Dad.

For more than 50 years there has been one man in my life who has shown me the role of what it takes to be a great father—that would be my Dad. Yes, I have written about him in previous “Snap.Shot’s” but this is the most important one you will read.

My Dad didn’t grow up with a lot---it seems that was the way it was back in the 30s. You had the Great Depression to deal with, but you also had to find ways to mold yourself and be prepared when things got better. My Dad did just that. Growing up, he worked hard in my Grandfather’s grocery store and went to school when he was not working. In fact, he and my Uncle were the first in the family to go to college; he used this as a springboard to work his way up in a company where he worked at for many, many years. Like many businesses, it ran into challenging times and he was out of a full time job in his 50s. Not a good situation.

So what did he do? He started his own company along with my Mom. Funny, it lasted longer than his old company did and he was able to retire on his terms.

Some of my most memorable moments with my Dad have been in my later years. Sure, I had great times with him when I was young, but going on fishing trips (we did NOT camp), discussing business, and just knowing him as an adult has made me feel that much closer to him. I can think back of times when I did things that I shouldn’t of done---such as taking his change when he would put it on the counter, taking out his Bonneville or Grandville (both Pontiac's) and laying “scratches all over the place,” and probably the worst---faking a bee sting so I wouldn’t have to pull weeds. Sorry Dad, but if I can’t tell you this now, in front of the few readers who come every day to see what I have written, when will I be able to?

I will never be able to pay my Dad back for all he has done for me. There have been a few times when I have truly enjoyed giving him something that I am not sure he would have done; a few years ago we went to the Cardinal’s game, sat in the bleachers ate peanuts and hotdogs and just hung out. We also went to see the St. Louis Rams play the Atlanta Falcons (the two worst teams in the league that year) and sat in the front row right by the NFL photographers and the Rams cheerleaders. I was in heaven (sitting in front of the NFL photographers of course) I hope he was too. I am sure he didn’t miss the cheerleaders…I think they were nearby!

Dad, I am so proud to be your son; there have been so many times when I look at you and see all you have done for our family and it amazes me. Some of them are little things, and some are huge. You are certainly are one strong guy with all you have been through---and I hope you know, “I love you.”

The photo above was taken at a park the day of my Mom’s funeral. It was a day of very mixed emotions. We knew it would be. But it was a day where we could spend time as a family---one that my Dad and Mom created (and other Dad’s and Mom’s did as their children married into our family and vice versa) and spend time with my Dad. He needed us, and Lord knows we needed him. He is one strong and loved “dude.” Happy Father’s Day Pops---sorry about the Bonneville and Grandville's, they sure were powerful cars and their tire marks are probably still embedded on a street somewhere in West County.

Thanks for stopping by.

True Friends.

Throughout life we meet a lot of people; many of them are a handshake, nice to meet you, and we never see them again. If you do see them again, and you recognize them, chances are you have forgotten their name or where you met them to begin with. That’s life. I have a few friends who I can really count on. They are the ones who know me best, have been through the times of my life when I needed them, and they needed me. I know their names, know where we met, and know a lot about them and vice versa. That’s the best part of life. These are true friends.

When we are growing up we have a lot of “best” friends. The term “best” is not applicable because it changes at times by the day, hour, or minute. It’s when you separate from them over a period of time---college, jobs, etc---that they are either your real friends or former ones. Fortunately I have a few of the ones who have continued on for many years and decades. The coolest thing, some of them read “Snap. Shot.” so they are with me every day or so through these writings.

Growing up is tough when you are developing friendships; I look at my daughters and I can think of many friends who were so close at one point and now they hang out with a totally different group of people. Sometimes they come back into their lives and it always amazes me how much they have changed since the last time I saw them. Especially those who have gone from pre-teen to teen; the changes as we all know are pretty dramatic. What’s funny is when you see the boys, and then the girls, and how fast the girls change at such a younger age.

Last night we had a few 13-year old girls at the house getting ready for a party---fortunately not at our house. When we dropped them off at the house where the party was taking place, the boys were all grubbed out looking like they were 13, and the girls, who looked like they were 21, all seemed to fit into place. Very weird thing this thing called growing up. In the end, they are the same age, but boy is there a disparity in the way they look. When you look back just a few years ago, they all pretty much were at the same starting line---hopefully the boys will catch up.

The photo above is of our 2 daughters and their “best friends” along with Ralph of Ralph's World; these two sisters, who I wrote about a few months ago, were adopted from China. When you see all four of them together, they obviously look nothing a like. But when they mix together, and they have known each other most of their lives, they are like sisters. In other words, they are true friends. I am hopeful as time passes they will always be friends---their parents are friends of ours as well---but time will determine that. They will go through school, off to college, and hopefully continue to stay connected. Let’s face it, when you have only so many friends in life, it’s best to build the friendships early so you have so much to talk about later on in life!

Thanks for stopping by.

Father-in-laws.

When you marry into a family, along with it come other people who either accept you or they don’t. Sometimes they fake it in the beginning and then their true colors come out. I am one of the lucky ones, my father-in-law from the day I first shook his hand has always treated me like a member of his family. Pretty darn cool.

I call my father-in-law by his first name---Harold--and out of respect our youngest daughter carries the initial of his middle name and his son’s first name. I can think of no greater honor; in our religion we name our children after deceased members of the family, and even though Harold is very much still with us, his son Byron is not. The letter “B” honors both of these very important men to our family. On my side of the family, my Dad’s Dad has been honored many times as has my Mom’s Dad; when our children have children, I know my Mom will be honored. I am not ready to honor my Dad yet, although I am sure it will happen, thankfully he is in good health and we have plenty of time as there are no children on the horizon!

This being Father’s Day weekend, I am going to write about both my father-in-law and my Father---I can’t think of two men who deserve it more.

Harold Barroner Smith was born in Mississippi (I am often asked by my 7-year old daughter if I know how to spell the state) and lived a lifestyle that I suspect was no breeze. He came from a fairly large family and was fortunate to pull up his bootstraps and make something of himself; turns out he lost a coin toss with his brother to determine who would be going to college. Frankly, I would have asked for two out of three but I guess it was winner take all. With the option for college appearing removed, he joined the military and went to West Point---by doing so, he received his education and became an officer.

With two tours of duty in Vietnam, countless moves around the country (and the world) he and his wife would pack up the family and move to wherever he was needed. As an officer, the family was able to see a lot, but it was a challenge to develop roots in one place. My wife, for example, lived in 20+ locations while growing up. After Harold retired, he went back to school to become an attorney in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Yes, Idaho.

Living in Coeur d’Alene has provided a lifestyle that he loves; he can practice his craft, still does, and every fall he goes out with “the boys” into the wilderness on hunting and camping trips. Obviously we have nothing in common here as the only type of shooting I do is with a Nikon, not a Winchester—and camping, it's not my thing.

Trips like this may sound great to many of the readers of “Snap.Shot.” but did I mention they travel by horseback? Also, there are times when the weather gets treacherous, as it did a few years back, and it was not what I would have called a pleasure trip. Determined to put that behind him, he went back the next year.

Harold has lived, and continues to live, a life that’s so different than what I have lived. Getting to know him, as I have over the past 8 years, has been something I have enjoyed and treasured (he also is a photographer so we have that interest as well). I don’t see him as often as I would like, he does live in Idaho after all, but would like to go shooting with him one day---with a camera, not a gun.

The photo above was taken during the holidays---surrounded by 2 of his granddaughters you can see the twinkle in his eye, more hair on his head than most 20 somethings, and a Nikon D300 wrapped around his neck. Getting to know H.B. Smith is something anyone would enjoy---with his southern drawl, and his genuine warmth, he is the kind of father-in-law any one who marries into a family could ask for.

Thanks for stopping by.

Summer reading.

Every summer our library and schools encourage kids to continue reading while they are on summer break. Like riding a bike you typically don’t forget how to read, but continuing the process helps keep you well tuned for the start of school. Hard to believe it’s less than 2 months away.

This past week we went to our local library and our girls presented a chart with the number of books they have read. Both were at approximately 10 books of what I recall totaled up to a 100 boxes to check off. One of our daughters doesn’t read yet so these would be books that were read to her---our other daughter had a combination of those read by her and read to her. Either way it’s important, because in the end they are going to do it whether they want to or not---it’s that important. Thankfully they enjoy it.

Summer reading is probably going through a lot of change since the days you would sit in a chair, open a book, and let the day slip away. Now you take out your iPad, go anywhere you want, and know in the back of your mind you can check your e-mail, baseball score or anything you need because it’s all there for you. The days of letting time slip away have slipped away.

I am not sure if they still publish it, but Esquire Magazine used to highlight the best of summer reading. What they suggested was often excellent literature---however sometimes it was way over my head. It was, however, always a good feeling to see the August cover and know this was recuperation time; a time when you re-charge your batteries knowing that soon you would be running them at full steam again.

Since the computer age has taken over a huge part of my life, I find myself reading less books, magazines, and newspapers. I now get so much of my information on line, subscribe to only one magazine, and one newspaper, and whereas I want to read a book, I have trouble squeezing it in to my schedule. It’s really too bad because it is a very enjoyable “habit.” Now my free time involves writing “Snap.Shot.” spending time with the family, taking pictures and sleeping. There you have my day when I am not at work.

The photo above was taken in Kansas City, MO. Outside the public library they have painted huge books on the wall. When you first look at this mural, you have to do a double take. When you see some walking in front of it, it brings on a smile. It really is cool---just like reading a book.

Thanks for stopping by.

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Back in the very early 1970s, I made a very important decision. While everyone was mesmerized on singing the tunes of the day, I was well aware of the qualities of my singing voice and decided it would be best to stay in the background. You rarely heard Ringo Starr belting out tunes for the Beatles, like Ringo, I had found my spot---behind the drums and behind the singers.

It all started out for me with a blue snare drum. It sparkled when the lights hit it, and best part of all, provided me with an outlet to determine my future as a drummer. When I was in grade school, I would take my drum to band class; it had a black “pleather” cover, and as a band, we would play songs that I can’t remember but I suspect were pretty boring compared to today’s music. I would then zip up the bag and carry it home on the school bus. I was determined at the time to become the next big thing---all I needed were more drums, cymbals, and seat to sit on.

One holiday, after some significant begging and pleading, I awoke to find a black oyster “Pearl brand” drum set in our basement. I could not have been happier. I took lessons, played along with records on the record player, and became at best, a below average drummer. Actually I sucked. Along with some friends, we started a band---who didn’t---and if noise could be recorded and sold, we would have been huge. As you might guess, the market for noise was minimal and so was my drum playing ability.

The problem with playing the drums, at least what I found, was that without other instruments playing along, it was boring. For me, boring lead to less practicing, which lead to less playing, which lead to dust collecting on my cool drum set and so on. I don’t know how long it took, but the drum set finally ended up in the closet and after some time my parents found someone to buy it. Of what I recall I didn’t have much to say about it---it had been so long since they were played and I am sure guilt found its way into my head somewhere along the way. I really wanted to be a drummer, but in the end I knew it wasn’t for me. Right along with my being an NHL goaltender, Ichthyologist, or a thousand other things in life.

The photo above was taken at Brookfield Zoo this past weekend. Of course the lead singers received the most attention, but seeing the drummer in back took me back to a dream long ago. I am fine with the outcome, and am fine with not being an NHL goaltender or Ichthyologist---I have discovered my passion point and have stuck with it. For that I thank my parents for giving me the chance to try things---some were ridiculous, but they still said, “okay” and let me try.

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Fads.

We have all seen our share of fads; from “baby on board” signs to beanie babies to such crazy ones as “pogs.” For those who are not fortunate enough to remember “pogs” they were essentially circular pieces of cardboard that were traded and flipped; most of the collectors were boys. It was traumatic when you lost one of your favorite “pogs” by flipping it and coming out on the losing end---the winner walked away with it. Like most fads, these items fell into the “must have” category, and when it involves young kids, it becomes an obsession.

When I was growing up we had mood rings, pet rocks and “Earth shoes.” These odd looking shoes-I bought a pair from Thom McCann---were supposedly good for your posture because the front of the shoe was higher than the back. They must not have been too good---because they are no longer around. We also had patched jeans, clothing with the American flag plastered all over it (it was 1976 after all) and other fads that were so important…I can’t remember them.

As ridiculous as these fads are, I sure wish I had come up with them. Needless to say I didn’t. I am not really sure how a fad begins but they usually have a lifespan of about 3 months. They usually begin to fade once they catch on to the point where everyone has them (and then they are not special any longer) or the next big thing comes along. Once the fad is over…they go from a ridiculous price to the bargain bin. Guess right and you can make a lot of money, guess wrong and you are the proud owner of many of them.

Right now one of the hottest fads are rubber bands molded into the shapes of animals, buildings and other common items. They are colorful---very important---and some even glow in the dark. How do I know? My little kids have them. At $1.99 for a package of 6 or 8, I have to believe they are making a few bucks on these glorified “rubber bands.” I even offered to buy an entire bag of rubber bands ($3.99 for a ½ pound) in a variety of colors, but that wasn’t going to cut it. They had to be shaped.

The photo above is a picture of the “must have” for the summer of 2010. Rabbits, lions and buildings bunch together on both arms of all the kids these days; unlike the “pogs” that captured the minds of boys, these have captured the arms of girls. Lucky me. If I could travel back in time, for just say 20 years, I would come back wealthier than you could ever imagine; with a photo of myself surrounded by beanie babies, colorful cell phone covers and of course these “goofy”rubber bands, there would be no looking back---because I would be looking forward to figure out what would be the next fad. I wonder if Pet Rocks are going to be making a come back?

Thanks for stopping by.

Parades.

Believe it or not, up until about 8 years ago, I had never attended a parade. It wasn’t until the 4^th of July parade in the town where I live that I had a full understanding of what it was like to sit on the curb, watch a precession of floats move by, and best of all enjoy what has made America…Americana. I do like parades and have not missed one since.

In the parade in our town you will often find many of the same happenings every year. It all starts with fire engines from our town, and neighboring ones, coming down the streets with their sirens blaring and horns honking. It’s really loud. We then have the usual suspects ranging from---school bands, floats and my favorite, the Jessie White Tumblers. If you live outside of Chicago, you will likely have no idea who these tumblers are; they are young men who live in the inner city and are sponsored by Jessie White, a long-time local politician. They are flat out awesome. They fly through the air, jump over one another and really show how talented they are to a very appreciative crowd---they also get the biggest ovation. (The kids love to go because candy is tossed into the crowd and where there is candy, there are kids.)

We also have some unusual sites; we have a grown man who dresses up like Superman and entertains the crowd. He also wears his Superman outfit to other events around our town---he is mentally challenged, but is well known. When he walks by in his “Clark Kent” outfit, people will say there’s “Superman.” Then of course we have the Shriner’s driving their small cars and motorcycles; they drive in circles and crazy patterns waving to the crowds, and we all wave back. I’m not sure if we are waving and wishing they would move on or because we really are happy to see them. Probably a combination because no one really seems to care.

I have never been to any real famous parades like the Rose Bowl or Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parades, but would like to go one day; in particular the Macy’s parade with its large floats and cheering crowds. I would also love to go to another “Championship” parade but the next time I will have to have more patience, find my spot, and stay put. I did not have a good handle on what to expect and walked away with very few photos.

The photo above was taken this Friday at my dentist’s office while the masses celebrated below for the Chicago Blackhawks winning the Stanley Cup. As I leaned out the window from 18 stories up, I saw the start of the marching band and wanted to get a picture. I had it all in my head how I would shoot it, but I also had in my head not that I didn’t want to fall out the window---it was not a comfortable way to shoot. I guess it would have made the news, but that’s not how I wanted to celebrate the victory or the photograph.

Thanks for stopping by.

Place in this world.

From the moment we come into this world, we are in search of finding our place. It’s more than just a location, it’s the feeling of knowing someone is there to guide you and make sure you are headed in the right direction throughout life. When that person is no longer physically in your life, you take what you have learned from them and apply it; the role then continues as you become the person selected to guide. It can be a child, friend, or someone you work with ---there is no clear-cut answer.

One of the interesting things about the individual who provides you guidance, is when he or she is no longer physically present in your life; but you never forget them and it becomes evident when you see someone who spurs a memory. It can be a moment where you catch a glance of a complete stranger and think to yourself, “that reminds me of so and so,” a situation where a gesture takes you back to a time that was simpler or special, or even a comment that makes you feel the comfort of having that very special person back in your life for just a few moments. Whatever it is, it feels good.

If you have been a reader of “Snap. Shot.” for some time, then you probably know this has been a year that has had its downs and ups. More ups than downs, but I am human so you can be sure not every day has been a 10. Probably, no check that, the most difficult day I have experienced was when I learned of my Mom’s passing on November 18^th, 2009. Two days later would be the last time I would see her---but not the last time I would think of her or want to see her. (No I am not going off the deep end, or have visited a psychic, there is more to this story.)

I was flying home from New York this week, and about an hour into the flight I looked to my left and one seat forward. There was a woman sitting on the aisle who from the side reminded me of someone; I kind of shook off the feeling until I looked over at her one more time. It must have been a gesture, or movement, that caught my attention. After a few more looks in her direction, I realized this woman looked very much like my mother. It wasn’t just her mannerisms…she really looked like her; from the glasses to the hair to her clothes. It was weird. (I even told my sister about it, and she said she had yet to see anyone who looked like my mom. I guess I win.)

My sister, knowing me well, did ask, “Did you take a picture?” I didn’t because I could not walk up to this woman and say, “you know, you remind me of my Mom.” I did that one time with a client who I thought was older; I mentioned he reminded me of my Dad. Turned out he was probably 20-25 years younger and was not happy with my question. Lesson learned.

I know there will be many other times when I feel the comfort of seeing or hearing someone who reminds me of my Mom, and/or my Dad. I think it’s very natural, and to me completely reinforces the role they played in raising me. I just hope I am able to one day know the same is said of me when I am physically not around. (My Dad thankfully is very much around by the way!) Based upon the life I lead now, and how “I just don’t get it,” I have a lot of work to do!

The photo above was recently taken at Grand Central Terminal in New York. A woman is standing posing for a picture taken by someone else while many people walk past her. I slowed the shutter on my camera quite a bit, and she had no idea I too was taking a picture, and caught what I suspect was a different photo than what the other camera captures. I did like the effect. It reminded me of how when you are feeling very alone in a crowd, you have no idea of the number of people who have come into your life that mold your every day way of living. I am very thankful for the memories and what many individuals have brought to my life.

Thanks for stopping by.

Where’s Waldo?

There's a book, actually a selection of books called, “Where’s Waldo?” We have a number of them in our household and we have races to see who can find Waldo the fastest. If you are familiar with the Waldo series then you know he wears a red and white striped outfit and holds a walking stick. The trouble is, many of the other people wear red and white outfits, but they, of course, are not the real Waldo. The series of books takes you back in time, into the future, and in many locations around the globe. It’s a lot of fun and is challenging when you play with kids---they are much faster than some of us.

Sometimes we play real life “Where’s Waldo?” when we are at the grocery store, mall or a large crowd. Yesterday more than 2 million people came to the city of Chicago, and whereas you would suspect cell phones would be the answer when you were trying to contact someone---the system can only handle so many users at one point in time. In other words, finding “your Waldo” becomes more than a million and one challenge, it becomes 2 million to one.

It’s tough when you lose someone in a crowd, especially when the crowd is as immense in size as it was yesterday. Toss in some alcohol, heat, and very happy fans, and you have the makings of a challenging situation. Then, when the busses of happy players travels by you, the crowd squeezes together, the heat increases and confetti falls all over you. Thankfully it all turned out pretty well, there were some heat-related incidents, but all in all, it was what the city prepared for; well except for the additional 1,700,000 fans they were not anticipating. Oops.

The crowds were even too much for me; as I wrote in yesterday’s “Snap. Shot.” I ventured up over the crowds for several reasons---the heat, the happy fans who had been drinking, and knowing I had a lot of camera equipment with me. Camera equipment, where if something had happened to it, would be like playing “Where’s My Nikon?” amongst a large crowd.

The photo above was taken out of the 18^th story window of my dentist’s office. Literally hanging out the window, I made sure I wrapped my legs around a heavy item; it was the desk that allowed me to shoot, hang out the window and avoid shooting the last picture of my life. If you want to play “Where’s Waldo” in this picture, I have found one person without his shirt on. Looking at him, he should be wearing a shirt, but that’s not the point of the game. If you have an opportunity to play, give it a shot---and make sure you are quick because the kids will find him first.

Thanks for stopping by.

Lord Stanley.

For anyone outside the Chicago area, today was probably a normal Friday. At least as normal as a Friday can be. However, here in Chicago, it was the kick-off to probably one of the craziest weekends we have had or will have for years to come.

This morning, starting at 10:30, the city stopped to cheer the Chicago Blackhawks and their Stanley Cup victory over the Philadelphia Flyers. It does seem pretty quick to have a parade---they won the cup less than 35 hours before hand---but the city was apparently so sure they were going to win, that they had the parade already planned. One has to remember, this is Chicago we are talking about.

We don’t have a lot of winners here in Chicago; the last team to win a championship was the Chicago White Sox in 2005, prior to that, the Chicago Bulls (yes it was a good run for the Bulls) and before that, the Chicago Bears in 1985. Looking for the Chicago Cubs? Well most, if not all, of the people who were at their last World Series are quite dead. It’s been almost 102 years—and this year is not looking much better for a series win.

Then this weekend, we have the “cross-town classic” where the Chicago Cubs play the Chicago White Sox. Not enough? We have a Blues Festival in town. I will be far away from the big city this weekend.

I was downtown today and was really prepared to capture the championship parade with my trusty Nikon. I had my locations mapped out, and was hoping to be able to take some photos I would treasure. The city had anticipated 300,000 fans, but they misread that number. It turned out that more than 2 million people showed up to cheer on the Blackhawks and their Stanley Cup win. How large of a crowd is that? Consider this… there are 15 states in the U.S. that do not have 2 million residents---in the entire state! Yet we had them all in a 10 block radius.

I really thought I would be able to capture the moments of the parade, get players with the Stanley Cup over their heads, and feel like I was part of the moment. I was wrong. There were so many people on the streets that it became a sea of people. You were not able to cross the street, so I had to go through an underground garage to move from one corner the next. I had called my dentist’s office to see if I could shoot photos from his window---he has a killer view of Michigan Avenue--- and even though I took pictures they look like a red sea of people. I was very disappointed.

The photo above was taken prior to the parade. I have never seen the Stanley Cup before, and I knew this was not the real thing. But seeing the fans and how happy they were, it was a picture I knew I would like. In just a few days we are going to learn more about LeBron James’s plans for his future. Many Chicagoans believe he is going to be wearing a Bull’s jersey. I am not so sure, but I do know, if the Bulls win the NBA championship, I will be in the crowd, no matter how many millions of them, and I will be cheering louder than any of them!

Thanks for stopping by.

Speed catcher.

In one way or another, we are all familiar with radar guns; whether they are something you fear when exceeding the speed limit or are amazed at when the final speed is disclosed in sports, this device is a critical component of every day life.

This week the Washington Nationals new pitcher Stephen Stasburg had his major league debut. For the opposing team, the Pittsburgh Pirates, there wasn’t as much fanfare as there was in Washington D.C. At age 21, he had been ramping up for this date and boy did he deliver the goods. With 14 strike outs, no walks, and the win, he threw pitches that were clocked in the 100-mile range. This might sound fast, but in reality, it’s mind blowing. To hear the players tell it, they have not seen someone throw so fast with so many different kinds of pitches in a very long time. In fact, if ever.

But speed is not restricted to baseball; you find tennis balls served in the 140 MPH range, hockey pucks that are literally shot from what would appear to be a cannon, and even innocent badminton, our favorite backyard game, where the shuttlecocks travel near 100 miles per hour. (When played as a sport.) Wow, we have come a long way from the days of a really cheesy racket and net.

But there is also another use for a radar gun and we all know what it is. There is a funny story that was told during college, whether or not it’s true, it is pretty funny.

Here’s the story. Along a highway in Columbia, MO, a car went by a police officer who was waiting along the side of the road to catch speeders. The guy in the car had been drinking and was well aware he had to be careful. As he travelled by the police officer, within a moment, the lights came on. He was really scared and could not believe his bad luck. He pulled over and the police officer approached his car. He was asked, “Do you know how fast you were going?” The driver had no idea but knew it must have been a lot worse than he had thought. “How fast officer?” The officer knew he had been drinking and said, “You were doing 7 MPH!” Honestly, I didn’t know a car could go that slow.

The photo above was taken a few years ago when the Chicago White Sox played the Kansas City Royals in Kansas City. I was fortunate to get to the game early and saw the speed guns located right behind home plate; I had never seen one before at the ballpark. So, I walked up and took this photo. Just like the same radar guns you see in the hands of police officers---this machine has made life miserable for players and drivers alike, especially when you are on the receiving end.

Thanks for stopping by.

On the road.

When you travel for business, there is often a perception of glamour and the easy life. I am not saying that travelling is bad, but there really is a difference when you are travelling for pleasure rather than for business. Sure when you travel for business you do have the opportunity to eat in nice restaurants, stay in plush hotels, and even go out and entertain. Best of all, it’s usually all accounted for on an expense account because it’s business.

This week I was in NY. I guess I just couldn’t stomach paying ridiculous prices for accommodations that are overpriced, of inferior quality, and an inconvenience. So, I stayed outside of the city; I actually had dinner at a restaurant adjacent to a bowling alley and drove all around Manhattan to find parking while making calls. I have 2 words for all of the readers of “Snap. Shot.” about this experience---never again. I am still fine with not paying 3 times the rate for an average hotel, but the driving and food were really a hassle--- the food was not very good. I guess you could have figured that out when I mentioned bowling alley.

When you combine life on the road, with what’s at home, there really is no comparison. I remember when my Dad would travel to NY and other place, as he did often, I used to envision this glamorous life he lead. I suspect it was not as fast paced as it is today---but when you are on the road for business, it’s still business. Now, when you are out of town for pleasure, you have to stay in touch for business, so I guess there is little winning here.

One thing I am sure my Dad didn’t do when he travelled for business was take photos like I do. This trip didn’t offer the same opportunities as it usually does---there really were not a lot of photo opportunities like there are in a big city. (And if you are out in a less than desirable area, they are suspect when you are taking pictures of their town.) I was tempted to go to the top of the Empire State Building, but then I would have had to go through the process of going back to NY and there was no way that was going to happen.

I was able to take some pictures in between one meeting, but the photos I took were hurried and not ones I was particularly pleased with after I saw them---so either will you. One thing I am asked by people who know I am a photographer is, “Do you ever take pictures you really don’t like?” The answer, “More than the ones I do like.” Sure you have photos that capture the moment, but so many of them are just blah and you wonder what you were thinking when you took them.

The photo above was one I took at LaGuardia today. Having lunch, it was pretty good for those who are interested, I saw the “hook” that every airport has. It’s the hook of, “what did you bring the family?” This trip I am bringing myself home; if that’s not enough, I will have to let them know I do think about them and miss them when I am on the road. It’s not like I don’t bring things home from trips, but this time there really was nothing that caught my eye. I am sure the items in the photo would capture the attention of the kids; but for tonight, as I am flying back, I can only hope they are happy to see me, because I will be happy to see them.

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Teenagers.

Last week we welcomed another teenager into our household. It’s not like she wasn’t in the house, it’s just that she crossed the threshold from kid to well, still a kid---at least in my eyes. To say she has grown up would be an understatement. She is now taller than her Mom, looks like her Mom, and well, reminds me of her Mom. Thankfully, she is not her Mom---she leaves the lights on wherever she goes, never cleans up her room, and my biggest pet peeve of all, leaves food all over the house. Life with a teenager is so much fun. Now we have 2 of them under one roof. Lord help me.

It’s been a long time since I was a teenager, but I suspect little has changed. I didn’t clean up my room, I didn’t really clean up the dishes, but I did turn out the lights. I had other traits that were less than desirable, but I am hoping I grew out of some of them. I know there are some I have yet to rid myself of, but that’s not important in today’s “Snap.Shot.”

Being a teenager today, I believe, is tougher than it was when I was young---and certainly when my parents were young. A lot has to do with complete exposure to so much in the world that frankly didn’t exist even a few years ago. The Internet has created an “outreach” well beyond the local neighborhood and has brought information and content into our lives that is well beyond what I could have imagined. Combine this with music platforms such as MTV and reality TV, and you are witnessing a fundamental change in our society. I wonder if anyone saw this coming?

Can it get worse?

My daughter asked me about 2 weeks ago if she could start practicing driving the car in preparation to her getting her license. I said, “You are going to be 13!” She said she was well aware of that but wanted to start anyway. Thankfully my wife was there and confirmed that maybe in rural areas kids start driving younger, but where we live, it’s anything but rural. I did appreciate the question, and loved the response she got. For all of the drivers out there, do not be concerned; Izzy will not be behind the wheel until she has her permit.

The photo above was the official documentation into the teenage years. For every birthday we shut off the lights and turn on the camera. The illumination of the candles creates an effect that has become a tradition; we will have more teenagers in our house, and we know we will survive. I hope.

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Learning to read.

For most of us, learning to read was something we did when we were about a hand and one or two fingers. In other words, a long time ago. I am several hands and a couple of fingers now, but those early days of reading were probably the most rewarding and important ones that have molded my life.

I am going to assume, because I can’t remember back that far, but I have a feeling my sister or Mom read to me when I was young and not able to read. I am sure my Dad did as well, and perhaps my brother, but then again, I can’t remember back that far. If my entire family did read to me, thank you, if not, I still bet you did. Reading to those who can’t, especially at a young age, is something you do because you know how important it is that they understand and learn how important reading is. It is also a right of passage for an older sibling to do with their younger siblings.

Every one of our kids has done it, and now our youngest one is starting to go through the motions of reading books. Like her sisters and brother, she is learning. It’s very cool to watch because it was not long ago that not only could she not recognize letters, she wasn’t even around.

I have known one or two people who were not able to read as adults; they could write, but the ability to read was done by site and recognition---but much further than that. I can’t imagine what it would be like as an adult and try to function in a world like ours without the basics of reading. I did see something like this situation when my Mom was ill; her cognitive skills pretty much all went away. This was my Mom, the one who nurtured me and taught me so much. I will never forget watching her go through this agony and wishing and praying for her to guess correctly---yet alone understand. It was a memory I would love to forget, but for those few days when I visited her in rehabilitation it was very painful.

That’s why my wife and I---okay, more often my wife---read to our kids each night; just to the two youngest ones. The older ones have completely grasped the concept. I do remember when our 13 year-old was not able to read; she was a little behind some of her classmates, and then it was as if a light switch went off in her head. She went from a basic reader to a fantastic reader. Now she reads more complex books than I do---and even though her schoolwork is challenged by a desire to hang out with friends, she is one smart kid. We have been blessed in this area---so far, the first 4 kids have demonstrated how, with little effort, they can do very well in school. (I am going to hear about this.)

The photo above was taken on Sunday at a swim meet; our 7 year old made it a point to bring the “yellow” book that my wife has been reading to our two youngest. Taking over the responsibility, she in turn read to her little sister. Glued to every word, they sat there and read for a while---it was only the next swim heat, and opportunity to play in the sand that took them away from the “yellow” book.

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