Mama and her baby girl.
Brother, take my picture.
I have an abundance of pictures of my little brother climbing on things in order for me to take his picture but this is the only one I felt was more than proof of an accomplishment. This one is the only one I felt was art not documentation.
This photo is from a recent trip to Zion National Park.
I need to take more pictures!
I never heard his dad speak english before that very moment but I guess seeing me, mouth wide open, just inches away from piercing the flesh of his son, was enough for him to remember at least one word.
And just like that, the fight came to a halt. It was nothing serious. How serious could a fight be between two nine year old boys be?. Although, I was out for blood. The bitting idea was not original. Cresencio and I had fought before, that’s when he bit me. I remembered it this time and was about to pay him back when his father hollered at us, at me.
Startled, I looked at Cresencio’s dad, then at him and then went home in a rage. I was pissed! I let Cresencio have the upper hand last time but I was not going to let that happen this time. I was pumped and was ready to do anything to come out the victor in this altercation. My blood was boiling and when I got home it must have been evident on my face because the first thing my grandma said was, “Que pasó?” (What happened?)
I broke down, crying, “I got into a fight with Cresencio!”
She consoled me, perfectly. She took me into her big grandma arms, held me tight, and said, “there there” while rubbing the back of my head.
Now, is it just grandma powers or did she understand what I was going through? I mean, in my opinion, in order to console someone effectively you have to be able to empathize with them. Did she understand why I was so upset? I guess that’s not the question, though.
The question is, why was I so upset? Why was I crying? I was just in a fight, a fight that I was winning. In fact, you could even say I won that fight. Punk ass Cresencio had to have his dad stop it. Why was I the one weeping while his grandmother held him. Well, I lived in a shitty neighborhood. My mother only allowed me to go one house over, either to our left or to our right. There were no kids living in the crack house to our right so that left the Mexican family to the left. Although they had several kids, only one was my age, Cresencio. This physical altercation, our second, meant that I had just lost my only friend and this… broke my heart.
I love to open up my aperture for my pictures, especially for portraits. I like this photo because I can see where my preference for a fully open aperture is flawed. I should have stopped in down bit to get both of these boys in focus.
Were they guarding me or was I guarding our belongings from them? I was in a pretty bad car accident in Guerrero, Mexico a couple years ago. Out of the four of us I was put in charge of staying with the car while one of my friends went to find a tow truck and the other two went to pay off the owner of the 18 wheeler that hit us. Yeah he hit us but we crossed that center line so it was our fault. Anyway, I sat with these two boys for hours camera in one hand and spanish dictionary in the other. They never left my side.