I routinely observe my sons to catch their point of view, the way I always did with my young students. It’s a device, however unreliable, that has long helped me tune in to childhood, even if I can’t remember it.
Yesterday, we drove to western Massachusetts for a pool party at my uncle’s house. My sisters recall many pool parties there when we were kids. But as I told my husband, I felt like I was visiting his pool for the very first time.
As we drove back, S. took photos on his iPad. When I opened them today, I noticed most were unclear. Shadows, some blurry shots of a knee.
But a handful were something else: that entry into a child’s point of view that I will always crave and always be grateful for when it presents itself. I looked through these photos and imagined my own point of view in my family’s red AMC Matador. Parents, siblings, traffic, sky, home.
Here, twelve shots driving home from a pool party, as seen by someone who is seven.