From my infancy all the way to my senior years, my life is chronicled in numerous photo albums. I still buy disposal film cameras so I can continue to memorialize my life in 35m color film.
My dusty photo albums weigh more than a laptop and they contain hundreds of photos compared to a smartphone that can store tens of thousands. But I treasure my photo albums more than the digital images stored in my cell phone.
Snapping a pic using a smartphone is the epitome of instant gratification. In a split second you see the photo, and in less than a minute you can photoshop or AI edit it to perfection.
In the old days you had to take a roll of film to a drug store and wait days or even weeks to get your developed prints back, with no guarantee they would be good. I remember how satisfied and proud I was of my photographic skills when none of my photos were bad due to blurriness, bad framing, poor focus or bad lighting.
Young people take photos of every mundane moment in their daily lives: their breakfast meal, the antics of their pets, their colleagues goofing off, and a gazillion and one selfies.
In the analog age every snapshot cost money, and we were deliberate about every photo we took. Every print in my photo albums documents something worth remembering: my confirmation in the Catholic Church, my high school graduation, and me as a terrified little kid sitting on Santa’s lap.
Every picture tells a story: when I look at a photo of the little house at 250 Willits Street in Daly City where I grew up in, myriad memories of my siblings and I flood my mind.
Y’all can make fun of me all you want for holding on to my photo albums, but I wouldn’t trade them for the latest iteration of the iPhone that can store tens of thousands of images.
