I Left My Camera at Home

The noticed popped up on my Facebook feed: "Sunrise Eagle Watch" at a local state park.

I jogged up the stairs to hunt for my first born, the fourteen-year-old boy who used to be little and obsessed with big bald birds.

Before I reluctantly uttered my invitation, I was sure his answer would be "no". "No thanks, Mom. I can't get up at 5 a.m. Sorry." Because he's tired. And he sleeps in most days. And well, because being sighted at an Eagle Watch with your mom might be dorky.

I braced myself for the rejection and reminded myself not to take fourteen personally.

"Sure," he replied, "I'd like that."

So we pulled ourselves out of our beds that January morning. He put on his red and black buffalo checked hat, and I grabbed my comfy fleece gloves.

On my way out the front door, I spied my camera on the coat rack. I reached out to grab it but hesitated.

Sometimes I am so obsessed with the right angle, the right moment, the right setting–that my focus is not on the present.

I let the front door close, leaving my camera at home.

Capturing the perfect image was not on the agenda. Instead, it was spending time with my son.