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  • “Don’t wanna, don’t have to, can’t make me.Pictures are dumb.” Good to know the seven year old in me is still vibrantly alive.

    “You’re right. You don’t have to. It’s a silly thing to do.”, the sixteen year-old babysitter me chimes in snapping a picture of her bright yellow shoe laces, then the little girl’s butterfly clip and the dog’s basket of toys and the canary in it’s cage and the front door wreath as she heads outside to the container garden and the birdhouse and...
    “Hey, wait. Can I take one?”
    “Sure. Just point at something that you like and press the button.”
    Snap, Snap, Snap.
    “I wanna take a picture of my bedroom window.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “This is fun. How do I look at them?”
    “I’ll show you.”
    “Oh, look, there was a butterfly on top of the hose! I didn’t even know it was there! Oops. My brother’s bike is kind of blurry.”
    “It looks like it’s hiding in a cloud. Keep it.”
    “I got a picture of my bare foot and the sidewalk.”
    “We’ll print it out and paint faces on you toes.”
    Later in the day
    “Mom you wanna see my pictures? Katie let me use her camera phone. They’re really funny and I got one of this butterfly. She put them on the computer for me. Do you think I could get a camera? There’s so many things I want to take pictures of and you can help me post them for my friends.

    I am still such a stubborn little kid. The sad part is she’s trapped in a 65 year old who has forgotten how to play. I finally find a storytelling site and now I have to post a picture about the story!! It’s too much work, I’m too busy, I don’t have time, adult speak for don’t have to, don’t wanna, can’t make me. Not to mention, I’m old enough to know a mistake when I see one. No one wants to see those blurry shots or the ones where I forgot the camera was on. My story is about my great uncle Torkelson always fighting with my great aunt Hedwig. There’s no photo for that. Not true says the seven year old me. Find a picture of a boxing glove. Take a picture of a broken dish. I reply with sixty-five year old good sense, “I don’t have time, too busy...don’t wanna, can’t make me.”
    “Then let me”, she replies and off she goes to my grandson’s Bozo Bop Bag, the broken potter planter on the porch, the empty porch rockers facing in opposite directions. Snap, Snap, Snap.
    “Hey wait,” I say. “Can I take one?”
    “Sure. Just point at something that you like and press the button.”
    “This is fun.”
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