There is something so wonderful about a passport. It is a little reminder of all the places that you have been, the people you have met, the sleep deprivation you were experiencing as customs strangers from around the world look you up and down, make two stamps, and grunt , “Welcome to our beautiful country” to you (at least that is what I tell myself they are saying). But who also doesn’t enjoy a little trip down memory lane when looking at a passport photo. In one my hair was permed (not a good look for me!), one it was long straight and parted down the middle (also, not that flattering), and in my recent one I look so so happy (either because I just got married or because I just had my first milkshake after starving myself for 10 months prior to my wedding…I can’t remember).
But these days, the passport I like to look at the most is my son’s. I can remember the day we got his picture taken like it was yesterday. I walked rather innocently into the photo shop and told the man working there that we needed to get a passport photo for my 3 month old. He smiled, instructed me to take off my jacket, and offered me a cup of coffee. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had just stumbled upon the most patient and diligent passport photo taker in the history of mankind. What I also didn’t realize was the number of directions and stipulations he had to follow in order to get an acceptable photo.
Imagine…you have to get the 3 month old sitting upright, with no contraptions supporting him, with a white background, and with his eyes open. Thank goodness for this man’s patience as well as for his digital camera. I don’t know what people back in the day when you had to pay for each shot taken! After about 30 minutes, one break for breastfeeding, and one dirty diaper, and a small construction area made form a car seat, a white gym towel, and a few phone books, we had our shot. My little bald pumpkin head, eyes open and all.
So now, as we near our little boy’s 5th birthday when we’ll have to take him to get a new photo and a new passport, I look extra long at his 3 month old photo. I smile when the customs officers try to find the child that used to resemble our bald pumpkin, and I take joy in the fact that his little passport is not only filled with stamps, but also filled with memories that he’ll never remember, but we’ll share forever.