Mom dragged little Jeffrey to the stool positioned before the green screen backdrop. She encouraged him to hop up and get ready for his picture. He resisted. Although, on that shoot, I was only assisting the photographer, I noticed his fear and his mother’s tension right away. Mom’s posture was stiff. Experience led her to know, just know, Jeffrey would fight having his picture taken. She ensured he was balanced and stepped away. Her pained expression and outstretched hands told me she was prepared to return him to the stool when he jumped down.
Which he did. Over and over.
When she threatened him to stay seated, with a string of well-rehearsed apologies for her son’s behavior, Jeffery complied. But he covered his face and began to scream.
Not cry. Scream. I hesitate to describe anything that would make a child scream with such intensity and volume.
The first time the strobes fired, his screams intensified. His eyes, when uncovered, were wide with terror. Is it the lights?
“Lights!” he shrieked and then mumbled behind his flattened palms.
We turn off the strobes. But he continued to scream as the photographer captured tortured photo after photo. Never of his beautiful face. Just his knuckles, blurred head turns, feet and arms flailing. And his mother, and the photographer, continued to force him into the chair while he screamed, eyes covered, legs kicking.
I asked the waiting parents and children to wait outside the gym and returned to the scene of what I considered assault. After five minutes of this battle, I leaned over and made eye contact with the mother.
Red faced, she began a torrent of explanations about her son and his behavior and his diagnosis on the spectrum and her efforts to prepare him for this morning…and…and…
And I said: “You’re a good mom, Mom. He’s just not having it today. And that does not make you a bad mom. He doesn’t need to get a picture taken.”
“He doesn’t?” she asked, her eyes filled with tears.
“Nope.” I continued to hold her eye contact. Continued to let her know it was okay. Her son was okay. “No one should be forced to take a photo.”
The photographer shrugged and added, “He can come back on retake day – but, no, he is not required to get a photo.”
The tension in mom dissipated with an audible sigh. “Thank you,” she said as Jeffery jumped into her arms.
Having your photo taken should not be a moment of abuse. Having your photo taken should be a happy moment. A moment when you shine. Jefferey has a right to say no. And I will ever advocate for that right.
I have a rescheduling policy that allows your kid to have a bad day. When you schedule a portrait session with me, you can be confident that the whole family will be smiling.
