Yesterday my husband and I took a trip to Bruges, Belgium. I'll post more about the trip later, all that touristy stuff you'll wanna know if you've googled your way into here, and all the snarky stuff you'll wanna know if you couldn't care less about Belgium and just come here for the rant.
There's one sight, however, I don't want to forget, and unfortunately I didn't get a photo of it. Only my memory has the image, so I'm downloading it here, just in case those neurons go the way of the ones in charge of spelling.
There were lots of sweet things in Bruges, but it wasn't the chocolate, the cute puppies, the bored cat, or the coy swan that made my heart tremble. It should have been just another cliché Kodak moment, but wasn't, and for that I'm grateful.
A man from the tour group in front of us was trying to get a photo of a boy, probably his son, who looked about twelve. They were standing on a small wooden bridge, the man motioning the boy to come closer, toward the camera he was aiming at him, the boy taking a big step forward, then a little step back—just right.
The boy was a bit chubby, with a square face under neatly trimmed brown hair, cheeks the size of plums. But it was his expression that was so sweet I wanted to cry. A hopeful little smile, like he wanted the picture to turn out really good. Eyes bright with the innocence of childhood—no, not even children are that innocent anymore, with broadband and cable to inform them the world is no place for innocents.
The moment was so unlike similar moments with reluctant pre-teens I've known, no "Why are you taking a crap picture of me? I'll look like a dork anyway, so I may as well have this cynical look on my face just in case any of my friends or wannabe friends ever see this, which they won't because I'll make sure it looks so bad my dad will delete it, and then be so mad he won't ever ever try to take another picture of me again. Ever."
In fact, this kid looked like he didn't even know what a dork was.
My husband noticed this tableau too, and said, "Probably German."
Maybe. Or maybe the kid was actually a child model and I was witnessing a photo shoot. See? I was one of those cynical pre-teens. My dad took lots of photos of me, since he was a professional photographer with rolls of film to finish, and I was scowling in every one of 'em.
Anyway, just thought I'd share. More Belgian blog later, with photos of statues who didn't mind posing and some Kodak beer moments, once my heart fills back up with snark.
