“Do you really feel like photography was a mistake?”
He’s quiet, standing still for a moment before approaching and sitting in the chair next to me. “I was a stupid kid, and I thought that was all I wanted… to look at the world through my lens and capture its beauty. I was taking pictures when I was eight years old, using my dad’s Polaroid. And I had success with it, but I couldn’t make much money. Definitely not enough to make ends meet. And it wasn’t until I was out in the world, with a kid to take care of, that I realized exactly how wonderful it would have been to have a career that I could have fallen back on. Instead, I wasted so much of my life… spent years and years doing something that I loved, but I was struggling… always. And it was hard and painful. And such a fucking handicap when I entered the business world. It’s taken me a long time to make up for that. But I got to tell you, when I started earning money—serious money—I appreciated it. It gave me security. And it made me realize how stupid that kid was to think that following creative passions could have ever amounted to the comfort of being able to have all the things I need.”
“I’m making money at this, though. I’m successful whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”
“God, I just want to shake you and remind you of how hard this world can be, and that even though it might be going well today, it can all be gone tomorrow.”
I can tell he’s talking about Mom. “I know that, Dad. But I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I am making money at this, and it’s no different than Miranda or Conner or Darren’s jobs.”
“Itisdifferent, though, because it’s a creative field. What separates you from any of the other competition you have? Why should they get it from you when they can get it somewhere else cheaper or from the next guy who comes along with more talent?”
“Because I’ve proven that I can do this. Because I’m worth the money they pay me.”
“How can you possibly know that?” He looks into my eyes, but something in his expression has changed. It’s like he’s not fighting me right now, but he’s genuinely curious.
“Because I worked hard to get here. I didn’t wake up one day and think this would be fun. I’ve been busting my butt since I decided that this was what I wanted to do. Starting off working for free for buddies who believed in me and encouraged me… until people started offering to pay me because they saw value in what I was doing. Because every referral, every opportunity that has come my way, has come because other people have seen value in what I do. Far more than you’ve ever seen.”
“That’s… impressive.”
“What?”
“I was never able to feel very confident that my pictures had any value. I mean, I loved it, but I didn’t think I deserved to get paid for it. And people sure as hell weren’t lining up to pay me for them.” For the first time in a long time, he appears to be giving what I’m saying some serious thought. “I thought I would be happy because then at least I wasn’t chasing this elusive dream that would never pan out, and I guess in a way, that’s what I’ve always felt like you were doing.”
His words leave me with a question I’ve had for a long time. “Don’t you miss it, though?”
“There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret leaving it behind, but now all I see when I look at a camera is failure. I see this thing that I loved that I can’t have because I gave up, and it hurts so much.”
We’re talking about our passions, but it feels like we’re talking about Mikey, too. About how I don’t feel worthy, or like I wasn’t good enough—how I gave him up.
It’s funny that I can feel worthy and confident about some things and not others.
It hasn’t been easy being without him, and it’s been harder and harder every day. And just like Dad, all I feel is this deep regret over what I let go. I did what he did with photography, and that scares the shit out of me.
I don’t want to end up like Dad. I love him, but I can tell what his decision has done to him, how it’s tortured him throughout the years, how something he once loved has turned him into this jaded man who can’t even let himself fucking use the camera on an iPhone app because it just reminds him of his own failure.
It’s one thing if it didn’t work out with Mikey, and my fears were realized and he ended up moving on with someone else. It’s another to not even try.
And I do want to try. So bad.
I’m glad we had this discussion, because it’s offered me some clarity—clarity I needed right now.
“Well, I’ve done that too, Dad. Given up on something because I didn’t think I was worthy. But I think I need to change that. Do you mind if I make a call real quick?”
“Sure. I’ll finish dinner. This was kind of getting depressing for me anyway.” He smiles, but I can tell there’s still sadness in his eyes over reflecting on the past—on his own loss.
I get up and start to head out, but I stop myself in the entry to the hallway and turn back to him. “Dad, you could take pictures again. It’s not too late to turn back and pick up the camera.”
I see the knowing look in his eyes, but I can tell what’s really there right now is fear, like maybe he’s still too afraid to pick it up again, like he’s still not good enough.
I step outside and call Mikey, but my call goes straight to his voicemail. “Hey, this is Scott. I was just giving you a call. Wanted to talk about something that came up with my dad tonight. Everything's fine. But something he said made me think about us. And I guess I'm calling to say, you make me happy, Mikey. And I think I made a mistake. I don't think. Iknowyou make me happy. When we talked about a long distance relationship before, I was worried that maybe I wasn’t someone you could be with. That you would get back to your life and move on, and maybe if we ever did something together, we would end up that way, but I don't know. I guess I'm saying I'd like to see what happens, if that’s still an option. Which I hope it is.”
I hang up. God, that's gonna be fucking embarrassing if he gets my message and isn’t interested anymore. But I can’t believe that’s how he’ll respond. Not after all the conversations we’ve had since he left.
Although, considering how dismissive I was of the idea of working on this, I can’t be sure he’ll still be interested.
I finish dinner with Dad and play catch-up while waiting for Mikey to call, but he doesn’t.
I'm disappointed and a little sad.
