Her great-uncle is a photographer.

We were sitting around diner one day, and I’d just spent ten minutes explaining my newest camera.

He looked at it. Then held up his phone.

“My dog.”

“The sunset.”

“Me in London.”

“Oh, here’s when I saw Kate Bush last year. Man, that was something.”

His wife elbowed Dani.

“Yeah it was. You should have seen his face.”

“No. Come on. I mean the photos.”

He turned his attention back to me.

“You should have seen what I used to have to go through for concert shots. ”

He spent the next half hour telling stories about sneaking heavy camera bags into shows and developing film by hand.

His eyes gleamed.

Then he gave his phone a small tap.

“It’s good enough.”

~

“Here.”

My dad shoved his point-and-shoot camera in my hands on my way out the door to India.

“Take some pictures. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Once there, I fumbled.

Still, when I came back, everyone showered my photos with praise.

Fifteen years later, I was still carrying one.

It felt heavier every trip.

~

A month after returning from Japan, I was scrolling photos.

Next.

Next.

I stopped, then backed up.

The kids. Rain jackets on Miyajima. One looking at a map, while his brother peered through a sightseeing telescope.

“This is good.”

She looked over from the pillow next to me. The morning sun catching in her hair.

“Is it?”

I sighed.

“I wish I’d taken this.”

She blushed.

“No. You have a real eye and real gear. Mine are… well, it’s just a phone.”

I looked at my camera, still sitting at the corner of my desk. It was small, but my neck and shoulders still tensed at the weight.

“Maybe.”

I looked at Dani’s photos again.

“Okay then.”

I opened a drawer, and I set my camera inside.

Then I picked up my phone and went to find the kids.