While home a week ago, my Mom gave me a box of stuff to take home or throw away. I got all kinds of great stuff, like report cards, hand-written reports I did when I was 11, and this photo of me playing soccer when I was a senior in high school. My coach gave me the print one day before practice. I’m number 9. It came from a photographer who used to follow us around and shoot us for his own practice. I was stunned and excited to see how high I could jump at the time. I couldn’t get close to that now.
I remember this game clearly. My coach pulled me aside and told me to mark their best player. It didn’t matter where he went on the field, he told me to shut him down and not to let him have the ball. We won the game, and I haven’t cut my hair since. No, but I imagine it was a shot the photographer was proud of. This is one I would have put on my wall or sent to some competition.
It certainly played a part in encouraging me to be a photographer, because it’s shots like these that make shooting hundreds, if not thousands of shots before getting “the one” all worthwhile.
Thank you Glory Day reminiscing. Okay. I’m done.