Fathers and Sons

I received a very nice surprise Saturday afternoon. My son and I were making a picture using some stickers he had of various pieces of construction equipment, such as bulldozers, jackhammers, hard hats, etc. Troy drew a construction worker and we put a hard hat sticker on his head. Then he drew a tiny little person next to the worker, and put a hard hat on his head. I asked Troy what the figure next to the construction worker was, and he said “It’s his son, Daddy!”

That warmed my heart. It was the first time I’ve heard Troy use the word “son” in a sentence, and it touched me that he thought of the father-son relationship on his own while creating his art work. That he didn’t need any prompting, and that we weren’t necessarily going to even include multiple people in the picture, made my afternoon. He added to this a few minutes later when he said that they were the “Daddy-Son Construction Company.” Thank you very much, Troy.

I’m also reading a book about a father-son relationship right now. Laughing Eyes is a collection of letters written over two decades between Edward Weston and his son Cole. The elder Weston’s Daybooks is essential reading for anyone with even a passing interest in the life of this great photographer, or with an interest in the life of an original creative artist. This book of letters is a nice extension of the Daybooks.

I’ve long thought (since becoming a father, anyway) that I could never be the type of itinerant photographer that Weston and Ansel Adams were for large parts of their lives. Adams was on the road photographing when his son was born; I cut both of my kids’ umbilical cords. Those men may have photographed in more exotic locations, but I’ve learned to find subject matter all around me wherever I am. And how I do love coming home to my kids each night!

There is a sequence of letters from Cole to Edward (Edward was on the road, photographing) that really drives this point home for me. I’ll reference two of them here:

March 24, 1926
Dear Papa
Are you well? When are you coming home?
ooooxxxxxxxx


Undated
Dear Dear Daddy
When are you coming home. Are you homesick. I have a black cat. Her name is Blacky. We are cleaning up the yard a little. Cut down a big tree for the grate.
I love you.
Cole.


I think that those letters would tug at the heartstrings of anyone reading this book. But to the father of two adoring children of my own, they are enough to put a lump in my throat. This is a wonderful book.