One of my father’s favorite things to do in the summer was to load up his car with as many screaming neighborhood kids as he could find and take us out for the day. I think he was secretly paid by an underground group of depressed mother’s looking for a day of peace and quiet.
He would take us to swimming holes and parks and some days we would go hiking. Al Gore hadn’t invented the camcorder yet, so my dad always had his 8mm movie camera with him since you never knew when one of us kids was going to do something hysterical.
One afternoon we were hiking up a “mountain,” drinking from a clear stream that cascaded down the side; my dad filming the entire adventure. The rocks got a little too tough for him to maneuver with only one hand so he had no choice but to put the camera away. Ah, but where to put it? It was too big for his shorts pocket so after a moment’s deliberation, he slipped the camera down his pants. The only problem was the camera was still running.
We never saw any of that “footage” since my father said it was too dark. But it’s a good thing he had his 8mm movie camera with him that day since you never know when kids are going to do something hysterical. Too bad he didn’t carry a Polaroid.
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