My dad didn’t just buy a camera.

He bought a door.

And opened it to possibility.

This was his first grandchild. And suddenly, photography wasn’t just interesting—it was important.

So when my parents came to visit, they didn’t just take a few pictures.

They took pictures of everything.

The baby looking left.
The baby looking right.
The baby blinking.
The baby not blinking.

My dad consumed all things photography.

Aperture. Lighting. Storage. File systems.

He was already a computer guy, teaching himself programming on the VIC-20 and Commodore 64, so this became the perfect overlap of his interests and Windows 98 had just made its entrance.

He read everything. He stored everything.

Burned CDs.
Created folders.
Saved files.
Emailed photos.

This was cutting-edge technology at the time.

And then when our oldest turned five, something happened.

He got his own digital camera.

That was the gift.

Not a toy.
Not something that would break or be forgotten.

A hobby.

A shared language between grandfather and grandson.

“Let me show you how this works.”
“Do you know what aperture means?”
“Let’s try this again with different lighting.”

And just like that, photography became their thing.

But here’s where it gets fun.

When Son #2 number two turned five, he was briefed by his brother on what was coming:

“When you turn five, Granddad gives you a camera.”

So now there are two boys with cameras.

Then three.
Then four.
Then five.

And somewhere in the middle of raising all of them, I had:

Cameras everywhere
CDs everywhere
Emails everywhere
Files everywhere

It was… a lot.

At one point my dad jokingly asked, “How many kids are you going to have? I need to budget for these cameras.”

Fair question.

What I didn’t fully appreciate at the time:

…he wasn’t giving them cameras.

He was giving them time.
Attention.
Connection.
A shared experience.

He was giving them something no one could take away.

And yes, our house was full of devices and discs and digital clutter.

But it was also full of something else.

Joy.
Curiosity.
Memories being made in real time.

Memories with family. Memories with siblings. Memories connecting with the beauty of God’s created world. A collaborative creativity.

He didn’t just give them something to hold.

He gave them something to grow into.

He gave them the key to open their own doors of possibility.

What His Gift Gave Me

My father gave our children something that could actually be shared. And it gave me a different way to think about photos, memories, and what we leave behind.

He spent hours with them behind the lens. Yet he also spent hours with me via email and on the phone discussing storage, retrieval, gifting, archiving, genealogy. This was also the man who ensured we came to as many family reunions as possible.

As a matter of fact, while on travel this week, I was introduced to new faces who new my dad as a boy, played cards with my grandparents in the very house where this blog was composed. It’s a full circle moment, and I’m working to preserve our family’s memories, past and present. And while we do not yet have grandchildren, I find myself poised to consider what and how I will gift to our posterity.

I’m sharing more about what I’ve been doing to preserve our memories (and honor my father’s gift), tonight, Monday, March 23, 2026 in a short, 30-minute virtual gathering.