Confession of a Photo Booth Owner – Part IV

I’m a photo booth owner and this is an off-topic blog past about things that any photo booth owner would like to get off their chest. This one is about my father, beer and why I need to go to weddings and make sure everyone has the best time possible.

My father would drink beer at night in the dark. He wasn’t a drunk or anything, but he like his 16-ounce Yuengling. He liked them best, it seemed, while he was sitting in a regular kitchen table chair that was perched between the island that separated our kitchen from our “formal” dining room. No music would play. No TV on off in the distance to distract him from his beer or his thoughts. A real quiet time that seems almost impossible these days. Him, the dark, a beer and the rest of the house zipping past.

When I was about 12 or so, maybe older, I’d catch him there later in the evenings chilling out. Sometimes when I would walk by, he’d ask, “Are you happy?” I would always say “yes” because I was. I was a very happy kid, but I never understood or even wondered why he was asking, until the day I became a father and looked at my kids with the same question in my mind. Now, it’s something that consumes me even though I don’t really think about it too much. It consumes me in the same way a bird is consumed by finding food or staying alive day in and day out. You don’t think about it, it’s first nature at this point.

I have 5 kids. Maybe 5 too many, although I’m proud of all of them and love them all, I think the reason I ended up with 5 is because he and my Mom had that same number. Working and paying for all their things isn’t what makes me happy. But when you have five kids, you turn into that bird who not only has to watch out for the nest, but you have to leave it all the time to make sure it stays there.

But there are big differences between me and my old man. First, he’s dead. Been dead for more than twenty years now. He died very early, 54. Massive heart attack that hit him while he was dancing with my Mom – still kicking – at a family friend’s daughter’s wedding. That sort of would be a bummer, but I think that’s why I do wedding photo booths. To somehow make up for the tragedy that my Dad cause these twenty-odd years ago. And that’s my confession.