What feels like a million years a toy Jake and the Pirates camera showed up at the house. A souvenir from a shopping trip with his “Yeyo”? A token from when St. Nicholas paid us a visit? An inexpensive TJ Maxx find that I used as a bribery tool to avoid having to buy a $60 dump truck? The ways that it ended up in Rinn’s playtime arsenal are infinite but irrelevant. It was his and he was content totting that thing around for days on end demanding everyone to smile for the “camera.”
Unfortunately this so-called camera, while mimicking traditional camera noises, didn’t actually capture anything; instead would display one of five prestored images of Jake or his merry band of child pirates. I grew tired of Rinn snapping my picture and then excitedly showing me a “photograph” of Captain Hook. I get it kid, I’m the bad guy.
Back in February, I dug out an old digital camera and bestowed it upon Rinn, as I no longer wished to see myself portrayed as a man wearing a goofy hat and a mustache. Sure I miss a waxing every now and again but I’m pretty sure the hair on my upper lip never looks that absurd. While my own insecurity about facial hair played a minor role in handing over a once quasi-expensive camera, it was more so my precipitous curiosity that fueled this decision. My question: what exactly does the world look like through Rinn-colored glasses? And it’s not as if that camera was being used for anything more than a paperweight so let the experiment in toddler’s POV commence.
If these photos are to be an illustration of a day-in-the-life of Rinn then I’m starting to wonder if my kid has a drinking problem because roughly 90% of the pictures he’s taken so far are so unfocused that the subject matter is unidentifiable. On more than one occasion in my youth (and by youth I mean mid-20’s) that same camera bore witness to a night of drunken debauchery and the evidence was eerily similar. I always assumed my camera was protecting me from whatever foolishness ensued and if that’s the case I’m forced to question what it’s protecting Rinn from.
If I’m being realistic however, this just demonstrates that my photographer skills after experimenting with Four Loko in my magazine columnist days were apparently equal to that of a preschooler who successfully counts to ten but when asked which number comes next says “other big numbers.” Fine by me, the fewer pictures of me hysterically crying and falling down on the dance floor donning a satin jumpsuit the better.
Delete the mystery shots and ignore the alarming number of pics featuring the dog licking his butt and you have a handful of delightful little memories and a plethora of hilarious selfies. At the end of the year it’s my intention to compile these POV shots in a photobook; a souvenir of sorts from his days as a four-year-old or at the very least, photographic evidence for a future therapist.