Pressdog.com

Getting with the Program

By Bill Zahren
(Posted 12/18/00)

Ah the holidays. Winter. Good cheer. Ice. Spiritual meaning. Deadly wind chill. Striking.

Now throw in a tradition we’re awfully fond of out here in the ‘burbs –children’s holiday programs. A magic combination of overheated, adrenalin-soaked kids and overheated, stressed-out parents wielding enough technology to launch the space shuttle. It’s magic.

My youngest, Jena the Destroyer (5½) starred in a “program” at her preschool on Dec. 14. Jena was en fuego for about a month ahead of her program. They practiced and practice and practiced. She walked around the house singing her songs. Finally, the day came and the SUV and minivans surrounded her preschool.

When the program commenced, I counted roughly 213 video cameras in the audience. The president doesn’t get this kind of video attention. I half expected the CNN truck to be outside, uplinking it to GrandmaTV. If all the cameras had been plugged into the preschool’s electric system, the lights would have dimmed.

It pains me to report that, faced with the video camera throng, I choked big time. I’m losing my edge. As a former photojournalist, I used to be able to get in there and throw elbows with the best of them. It’s like posting up in the lane in basketball. It’s important to establish your position early and then defend it against people who think it’s OK to just stand in front of you.

Pay no attention to me back here, Mr. 6-foot-6. Feel free to stand right in front of me so you can get gripping video of your child, which you will later inflict on all your house guests. Oh, isn’t he lovely for the 392th time singing Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Honey, I bet the Johnsons would LOVE to see all 716 hours of Timmy eating birthday cake!

In the old days, blocking someone’s shot would have provoked a savage blow to the solar plexus, or maybe a slash to the back of the knee. Those big guys fall like trees when you drill them in the back of the knees. An ACL-ripper takes them right down. Most often, getting the great photos is about getting up front and not being afraid to have some body contact with someone who’s encroaching, if you get my drift. God gave me this above-average-sized ass, I’m going to put it to use to bull Mr. 6% Body Fat Armani Suit Boy out of the way.

But at Jena’s program, I let myself get aced out of two spots. First, some Green Giant came in and stood in front of me. Nice. I mean I didn’t want to drop the guy right in the middle of the preschool. Some message to send to the kids: “Even though I just blew this guy’s Achilles for standing in front of me kids, violence is never the answer.”

Then, I got out on the wing and had no shot at the group. Got wide and got shut down. Rookie mistake. All I could see was their backs. Finally, I had to give my camera to my wife, who was sitting in the second row, where I should have been, and then circled to the back so I could at least get a glimpse of Jena singing.

In the old says I would have slapped on the telephoto, snuck up stairs and hung from the rafters, upside down, to get the sweet photos. But no. For the first time ever, I had to surrender my camera to the wife. Oh, it’s a black Christmas. At 36, I’m washed up. I got bodied out of position by some old grandparent. All because I didn’t sit down with my wife when I had the chance. I would have had major sight lines. But no. My wife had to bail me out.

I just wanted to stand out in the minus 35-degree wind chill and cry until my eyes froze shut. But then I managed to convince myself that it was a fluke. A one-time deal. I was rusty, is all. Next time, I’ll be ready. I’m on a training program that will allow me to throw some savage elbows. Gotta get quick. Gotta be hungry. Gotta WANT IT to get the great holiday program shots.

Oh, my Jena Graduating with Her Daycare Class photos last year were art. I anticipated movements, I was in position all day, I rocked the house. Smoke rolled off my motordrive as I burned through the film like a gunner boring in on his target. Grandma got misty when I gave her the prints. Jena, smiling, with her cardboard mortarboard on. Striking.

But then I got soft. I lost my edge. And now I’m nothing more than an amateur. Soft like the SUV drivers with their $1100 digital video cameras. Better buckle up, Kirk and Muffy, because I’m on a mission. Born Again Hard Program Photo Marine in 2001. I can’t HEAAAAR YOUUUUUU.

Merry Christmas everyone. Here’s hoping all your program photos and video were golden this year and you manage to take a break from the frenetic pace to savor what’s really important. Here’s to a fabulous 2001.

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