…but sometimes the story is contained in the camera that took the pictures….…and this picture tells a story of a camera that told many, many, many stories.
This is my Dad’s old camera. Somewhere I have the leather case that it lived in, and it went everywhere with him. I generally say that I dislike being photographed because I had a camera pointed at me too much as a child. Dad was prolific with his photo taking, that much is certain, but I also acknowledge that Dad was so strongly about capturing memories and cherishing them, and the photo was his medium for that purpose.
When he moved into extended care my brother sifted through his many belongings and had to make decisions on many of them. He sent me a few of Dad’s cameras, this one sits on the shelf with the others and brings me memories and smiles whenever I see it. Now that Dad is gone, I am grateful to have this treasure of his.
It was well used, as a camera should be. And I know that many of the photos that I have of Dad’s were taken with it.
The battered lens tells its story.
Beaten and bruised, but still functional.
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