The Greenapple: Our Son's Smile

My son has the most beautiful smile. I know. Every mother says that about her child. And we all should. The problem is, I used to be able to capture that smile in photographs. Then, my son's school hired a new school photographer. You know, the person who comes once a year to take school photographs. This guy stole my son's smile. Or drove it away. One way or another, my son could no longer smile naturally for a photograph. He complained bitterly about the photographer. "He makes us pose in unnatural poses." "He wants me to show my teeth and I don't feel comfortable smiling with my teeth."

It's true. I taught at my son's school and I witnessed this guy, firsthand, with the children in my class. One little boy with the most angelic smile came outside for his turn on a lovely October day to be photographed for a school portrait. He sat down where he'd seen the previous victim get up at the end of her turn. I wondered what Josh was thinking of, because his smile looked so loving and natural. I thought, "Wow! He must be thinking of his mom looking at this picture. She is going to just melt when she see's this face." Then Mr. Photographer wiped it out with one sentence: "Okay, show me some teeth!" Instantly, Josh pulled his lips back in the most mechanical way to "smile" for the camera. I cringed. The shutter snapped. Picture ruined.

So it must have gone with my son in his sessions with this man. And for years now, we haven't ordered school portraits. They just don't look like our child. He doesn't like them and neither do we. You can imagine how concerned I was about his bar mitzvah* photos. Candid shots often came out looking great. Posed shots did not. Ever. It was really hard to get my son to smile naturally if he knew a photo was being taken.

Because the use of cameras is not permitted in our congregation on the Sabbath, we arranged with our photographer to take pictures in the sanctuary the Sunday morning before my son's big day. Marla Michele Must of Enchanted Photography (southeastern Michigan) agreed to meet us at Congregation Beth Ahm at 11:00 that Sunday morning. When we arrived, she was already there, reveling in the beauty of our sanctuary, snapping pictures, and smiling broadly. Her son, a school friend of our son's, was there, too.

We began our photo shoot. And something happened. Our son's smile came back. I don't know for certain what combination of factors caused him to be able to relax and be himself in front of the camera. Was it Marla's excitement? Was it ours? His? Was it the presence of a friend watching and interacting with him from the side? I won't ever know. All I do know is that it felt magical that morning—really spiritual and joyful. It felt to me like Marla was the key, the linchpin, that brought a sense of true celebration to all the moments she captured on "film." Thank you, Marla, for helping us recover our son's smile.