the stranger in the photo is me Essay

Haylee Henson
“The Stranger in the Photo is Me” Essay
A.P. Lang 4 Odd

“Say CHEESE!” my mom would yell in a frantic manner, as she chased me around the house, like a predator trying to catch her prey. If she didn’t snap a picture of any important or even petty event in my life, it was as if it didn’t happen in her mind. When I was younger, photos to my mom were little snapshots of my growth. Pictures that captured every step of my childhood, printed out and slapped into a photo book, “I would appreciate later in life.” Although, when you’re six, the only thing that matters is if you get macaroni and cheese for lunch and when you can go back outside to play. Therefore, I wasn’t very interested in sitting still for an ample amount of time. Especially, staring at pictures of family members and photos of myself I didn’t even recognize. Many years have passed and the seasons have changed, as my attitude about photos. Instead, I have stopped running away from the monster, I thought the camera turned my mom into. Nowadays, the roles have reversed, and I’m hunting my mother down to take my picture. At this point in my life, I cherish pictures, or one-way tickets to relive the good ol’ days and memories from the past. “Let go! Let go! I can do it!” I recall shouting with a shrill cry that only a determined, boisterous, little girl, like my six-year old self, could muster. On a beautiful, spring day, in no other place than my magical home, I accomplished the impossible, the most difficult task that had ever been thrown my way, how to ride a bicycle. But wait, not just any bicycle, the ravishing purple and pink two-wheeler, with the dainty basket that could tote around my favorite stuffed animals. The glorious vehicle, I named very fittingly, Princess that I for many years had yearned and dreamed to take wild adventures on. Before I hopped on my trusty steed and journeyed off into the distant, someone must have taught, very patiently, my rowdy self how to even set foot on the bicycle. The cautious man in the background, the lucky winner, my brave Papa, who graciously taught a stubborn me, step by step, how to commute on the precious bike. After learning how to ride, I had instantly fallen in love with Princess, and had formed a solid connection, one my parents had trouble tearing apart. I pedaled circles around my younger brother, until my legs grew numb, enjoying the feeling of superiority, like nothing could knock me down. Thankfully, nothing literally knocked me down, and that day I expertly dodged all obstacles that intruded my path and all thoughts of fear that clouded my mind. I was free. Free of all negative emotions and filled to the brim with pure joy and happiness. A genuine sensation that can be read by the expression on my face and can be felt in the depths of my soul. A triumphant feeling you only get

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