I recall two occassions when I drove my father crazy. First, when I broke the family’s 18th century crystal damajuana to smithereens. The other — a terrible crime — when I accidentally recorded my voice over his Frank Sinatra’s Greatest Hits cassette tape.
All my other sins fell short of these two atrocities.
Now there are some areas we are unanimous of. Photography is one. My father was never a big fan of mine. Until he discovered Malate.
Shamelessly now, I would like to thank Photography for making my father proud of me.