I had access to a pawn shop growing up...too much access. Dad had enough sense to keep the pocket knives and other sharp objects away from me, but he decided I'd be safe with a camera. He started out by letting me goof around with a Kodak Disc. Remember those? One little odd shaped disc just dropped in the camera and only allowed 15 shots per disc. As soon as I thought I was getting good, my disc would run out. His first store was next door to Jackson's Studio. I am certain that I drove Joyce Skidmore and Mr. Jackson absolutely nuts, and I apologize for that now; however, I just couldn't resist REAL Cabbage Patch Dolls in the front of the store AND a real photography studio in the back. It was too much temptation. Dad had pocket knives and Mr. Jackson had baby dolls with Xavier Roberts's signature on their tush. No plastic faces on those dolls. No way. They were the real deal, and I loved them, and I took pictures of them with a camera that had no film. My love of photography started with a doll hatched in a cabbage patch in Georgia and a camera from a pawn shop on Cumberland Avenue. If Annie Lebowitz only had a story that amusing... But that love was noticed early by my mother, and to this day, she encourages me with every picture I take.
But each album, each stack, each file folder, and each year has that "one" picture. For all of my life, I've had that "one." I can't call them off in chronological order, but I can describe them and strike smiles on many of your faces. A groomsman who won me over just by hearing his voice on a race radio long before I should have been listening and smiling. A big yellow truck filled with college girls and country music. A rotten little sister who ate a brown cow and licked her fingers just the right way. A beauty queen rocking a Skynard shirt. A spelling bee champ who'd pass the BAR. A coal miner wearing snakeskin boots. A baby girl kicking giggling while her daddy made the most hideous noises in the background. A little bald boy holding a lobster at the horse show. A blue eyed girl peeking over her shoulder on prom night. The world's greatest big brother holding his baby sister beneath a Christmas tree one year after the next. A mother's hands held delicately between those of her two daughters. A little boy (holding a bottle rocket) who'd grow up and surpass NASA. My very best friend snuggled up with her precious twin daughters. A triad of fabulous on Halloween at the beach. A mother holding a basketball, talking on a phone, and styling her daughter for prom all at once. A momma named Joni (pronounced Johnny) and her daughter whose middle name happens to be Campbell. My mother's hands on a piano keyboard. The Coigns' beautiful flowers. The list goes on and on, but every year there is one, and this is the one.
I had never actually met Ciara until Saturday...as in a few days ago. She was a student of someone I know quite well, and during her time as student, I heard lovely stories about her kind heart, vibrant spirit, and endearing parents. At least once a week, I heard about Ciara, and once Ciara left that class, the teacher missed her very much.
I have, however, known Ciara's mother much longer than we should admit since we're still both very very young. Camilla came to Middlesboro High School as a freshman with a force like a hurricane and never looked back. She was beautiful. She was that kind of beautiful that girls couldn't buy at any salon, make up counter, or fashionable department store. She had eyes that were alive with just enough rotten to let you know she was having fun and she was serious about it. She could whip both her brothers with one hand tied behind her back. She had the most beautiful hair, and she'd cut it off without a care in the world. The rest of us couldn't imagine whacking off the long locks of poorly permed hair we had, but for Camilla, she knew it would grow back the same beautiful blond she had to start with. And, she was right.
She had this unbreakable spirit about her then. If she wanted to be an athlete, she ran faster than anyone else. If she wanted to be a cheerleader, she jumped higher than anyone else. If she wanted to put a lift kit on a truck, she jacked it up higher than anyone else. If she wanted to be a princess, she put on the most beautiful dress and floated in the room like she owned it, and despite the assumptions of many jealous older girls, she did own it. She set her sights on exactly what she wanted, and she never flinched at a challenge.
And by the time all that gibberish of high school was behind us all...life sent us in various different directions. I always knew Camilla would be a mother to a girl who'd have that same fiery spirit. I knew she'd marry a man whose love surrounded her with a calm she had never realized she wanted. I always knew she'd devote every single minute of her day and every breath she sighed to raise a daughter with her smile, glimmer, and shine and his gentleness, calm, and ease.
My "One" picture for this year is of that daughter, her mother, and her daddy.
When we were teenagers, Camilla and I had a few things in common. We loved fast cars and the bad boys who drove them. We giggled way too much. We thrived on powder puff football. We were just a little bit sneaky but smart enough to never, well seldom, get caught. We each found an office in which we could "work" in high school so we'd escape the torture that was study hall.
And now, we're adults, and we have one experience in common that I certainly wish we didn't.
I'm grateful I got to take this picture of Ciara, her momma, and her daddy. I take pictures all of the time, but I seldom ever take pictures that make time stop and make me remember that there are angels above us....but only a few who can make their baby girl smile like that while she shows me and the world that she and her mother are an unbreakable pair as they hold each other up. With Camilla watching behind her, her daddy watching over her, and Ciara looking forward, the blessings yet to come are endless.
