Setting: Cyrpto.com Arena, Wednesday, February 7th, nearing midnight EST
LeBron’s fade away hits nothing but net, eclipsing Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s NBA scoring. Reporters, celebrities in attendance, James’ family, and dignitaries spill onto the basketball floor. Those spectators lucky enough to have a ticket to the game, alas, collectively check their iPhones in unison – all adorned with a curious, ‘did I get it?’ looks on their faces.
From my seat on the couch at home, I’m also wondering ‘did they get it’, but, for different reasons.
Setting: Premier Soccer Complex, Bradenton, FL, January 28th, approximately 10:30 am
Lynden, my son playing midfield on his 16U soccer team, awaits a corner kick taken by a teammate. Ever the doting dad, I grab my fancy iPhone to capture the moment. I check the flash, I zoom in, I look and…..it doesn’t click. More occupied by a fledgling attempt to restart the camera setup, I am startled by the roar of the parents next to me.
“Who scored?” I ask Jimmy’s dad, cheering.
“Lynden,” his look is joyous, confused, and condescending.
Damn.
I miss it.
During a tough season where Lynden has kicked more sideline grass than soccer balls, my son’s highlight is forever gone.
I guess that it would be fair to say that my iPhone ineptitude robbed me of the joy of witnessing my son’s big goal. But, even if I had the phone ready to go, I think I would have missed it peering through the screen protector.
This phone-camera-snap-check-repeat during our daily lives does not come up on the fields of play only. I see it on when at my kids’ play or choir concert, in documenting my daughter’s funny way of dancing through commercial breaks of Netflix shows, at really any potential joyous occasions that my kids are set to experience.
I find myself now asking: “Is watching this moment back (or missing it altogether) so great that I should give up watching with anticipation live?”
Camera savvy folks are probably yelling that I can have both. It’s easy, right, just position the camera and then watch. I’ll give you that.
But, again, I think to myself – what is the video for?
Am I recording to document that moment, or, to post a cool reel on social media (or for our kid to do so later)?
Am I itching to tell the world what an amazing kid I have, or, am I soaking in the sense of pride I feel for the actions I see?
Am I (even subconsciously) confirming the on-court/field/stage success I capture justifies the familial and financial sacrifices we are making to provide this opportunity in the first place?
Am I just bragging, or, am I taking the time to cherish the bad ass kid my wife and I think we are raising?
If I rewind to New Year’s Eve, and revisit my resolution for 2023 to “be more present”, there has never been a better example of my own hypocrisy than attempting to trade these poignant moments for a perfect post.
AFter all, we can post the candid shots to our stories, but can we tell the story of the candid shot? Can I recount really living in that moment after it is long over?
Setting: my dimly lit office, 10:30 pm
I think about the shot that will forever be the “one” memorializing LeBron’s place the NBA record books (see above courtesy of CNN). James looks majestic fading away in perfect form, the ball just gracefully leaving his outstretched right hand. MONEY SHOT!
I also think about the thousands of other people, from worse vantage points in the arena, with inferior equipment, attempting to mimic the picture for their own uses. I wonder if those lucky spectators were pleased with their photo.
Did they ‘get it’?
End scene: I type ‘they don’t’.
