THE FAMILY PICTURE

When things get "interesting" during surgical procedures, the circulating nurse would inevitably ask, "Would you like a picture of that, Dr. Tall?" My response was always the same, "The answer would be 'No, surgery is like a family vacation -- you can take pictures or have a good time."

My issues with pictures extend far beyond the operating room. The professional pictures in our friends’ homes made us believe that if we paid someone to take our family picture, we could have the same wonderful result. One studio session was particularly memorable. For about thirty minutes, we obediently posed and smiled. The session was just too smooth and painless. Of course, when the photographer mentioned something about her being able to take out any imperfections, I thought she was going to make us all look better. What I did not know was that this woman would take liberties and manipulate our images into how she thought we would look without our imperfections. I should have been tipped off by the heavy makeup she was wearing.

In about three weeks, the finished picture was delivered. Our real appearances had been transformed with an airbrush into The Addams Family. Our hairdos were larger and darker than the ones we saw in the mirror. She added eyebrows -- my daughter and I don't have eyebrows. We don't need eyebrows and didn't want eyebrows. We looked like we were at a chipmunk convention with our smiles, big teeth and eyebrows -- did I mention that in real life we don't really have obvious eyebrows? As we all gathered around the picture, I suggested that it may look a little better from a distance — but no, the distortions only increased from further away. It resembled a poster for a creepy B horror movie. The children actually tried to suppress their amusement, thinking that my feelings would be hurt. However, the harder they tried not to laugh, the worse it became Their red faces brightened and the giggle-snorting progressed as we placed our distorted group image on the mantle. When we stood back to see how it looked in the family room, they all collapsed -- gasping and laughing on the floor.

Some of us were laughing more than others. The professional portrait did not last long on the mantle. Soon, it was hidden under our bed -- out of sight, but not out of mind. MK, that lucky woman who married me, just shuddered whenever I asked her where she was going to hang the thing. After all, we had paid handsomely to have ourselves memorialized at that moment in time. This was in the days before "ghosting," but that is what MK did with it -- the Addams Family portrait of ourselves just vanished. Here today, gone tomorrow -- poof!! After she tossed the portrait, MK slept considerably better. After she calmed down, she told me after this experience she was NOT going to have an open-casket funeral, was not going to let someone else put on her makeup for a public display, and was not having a viewing of her earthly remains. No makeup, no public display, no gawking at how someone else thought she should look, nothing, nada, zero -- period! Case closed -- and this was after she had calmed down.

A birthday celebration the next May provided a time when our family would all be together again. We arranged for yet another photographer to take the family picture in our own backyard. The weather and light were ideal. The photographer confirmed that the moment had arrived. Our yard and grandchildren had all been trimmed and landscaped to perfection. We counted noses and discovered that the junior posse was ready, but two of their mothers were missing in action. The search party found the two expecting mothers upstairs, sitting on the floor, crying to each other about how unfair life was already without having to take a family photo. Tears and makeup left little streams on their swollen red faces. It was obvious, even to the most casual observer, that these young women hadn’t been in a happy place for quite a while. No matter how beautiful, when women are making babies, something in their central processing unit tells them that they are not, nor will they ever again be, photo-worthy. My kind words of reassurance did nothing to stop the howling or turn back the tidal wave of tears. Outdoors, the lighting moment had passed, and the photographer was excused.

That evening I ordered a large print of Dogs Playing Cards, by C.M. Coolidge. It arrived in a few weeks and I placed it on the mantle to see if Mary Kay would notice. Although she would never admit to me that she had actually seen the print, she mumbled to herself whenever she walked by the fireplace. After a while, I noticed that the dogs had been replaced by a tasteful painting from Deseret Book. Our mantle has become a busy place. I continue to switch out my wife's print for the doggy print that I bought from Amazon. She takes it down. I put it back up. Down, up. Up, down. Up and down. It is a fun game.

Before he died last year, my friend, RH, and I were admiring the photo in his living room. It is just stunning. His family is dressed in white on a long black background. I told him that he was a better man than me because I did not have the patience to round up and herd my family into a photo session. He smiled and said that his experiences were much like mine. Then he shared his secret. He had asked each family to separately pose for a photo in each of their communities. The black and white pictures were then forwarded and unified into an Adobe-tweaked panorama of memorialized happiness, creating the illusion of peaceful togetherness. Every time I put Dogs Playing Cards back on the mantle, I am reminded that I intend to do this .... someday.

Ever Vigilant,

RT