Just yesterday I said I didn’t like to photograph people in distress (or whatever word I used) and here it is less than 24 hours later and I’m photographing people in distress.
Well, it wasn’t my intention to photograph the people. It was only my intention to photograph the car crashed into the wall on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway.
We were on our way to the beach. We haven’t been to the beach much this year. Last year, when Rita and I were unemployed, we went two to three times per week. (We went to the Asser Levy pool on the other days). This year, I think we’ve only been twice.
Today I asked Owen how he would rate his Summer. He held up four fingers.
“Four?” I asked. “Out of five?” I was thinking of the Netflix rating system.
He held up ten fingers.
“Out of ten?!” I said. “Why so low?”
“Because we don’t go to the beach,” he said.
“Yeah, last year was exceptional,” I said. “This is how it usually is: the mother and father both working and the kid goes to camp. It will probably never be like last year again.”
We told him this last year too, but kids don’t understand things like that. All that’s true is what they’re experiencing at the moment, and for him parents go to the beach with their kid(s) almost every day.
And why not?