Recently
a friend told me that her love of taking photographs diminished after her
camera was stolen. She had a nice single lens reflex (SLR) camera with an expensive
telephotos lens. Because she didn’t want to buy another costly camera that may
get stolen again, she bought an inexpensive one to take photos of her
grandchildren. It is a shame that a thief not only stole her camera but stole her
passion too. As she told her story, I remembered something that I hadn’t
thought of for many years.
In
1979, I was in my junior year of the interior design program at West Virginia
University. My teachers wanted us to experience the furniture industry
first-hand and arranged a trip to Atlanta, Georgia. The itinerary included touring
factories, attending a furniture show and participating in workshops about fibers
in fabric and carpet.
Twenty
of us boarded a bus in Morgantown, WV for a twelve-hour trip. There was constant
chatter about peach daiquiris in the revolving restaurant at the top of the
Peachtree Plaza, touring Underground Atlanta and enjoying the carnival rides at
Stone Mountain. I was the unofficial photographer because I had a really nice
SLR camera. I was taking a photography class and had rented a camera from the
bookstore.
Each
day was exhausting, but also exhilarating as we visited furniture showrooms and
manufacturers. There was no shortage of fun, either. Our final event was the
luncheon awards ceremony before boarding the bus to return to school. We checked
out and put our luggage into our chaperone’s hotel room where each of us
carefully staked our claim to a small spot. I didn’t take my camera to lunch
with me because I thought it would be safer in the room.
When
we returned to the room to collect our belongings, my camera was not where I
had put it. We frantically looked for it and checked to see if any of their
items had been stolen. Nothing was missing, except my camera. I didn’t start
crying until I got on the bus. Then my mind started racing through worst-case
scenarios.
I
would have to withdraw from my favorite class and possibly fail, if the
withdrawal period had ended. Even scarier was thinking about what my father would
say. I knew my parents didn’t have the money to pay the bookstore for the
camera. By the time we got back to school, as only a teenage girl can reason, I
had pretty much resigned myself to my fate—my life was certainly over.
Although
when I told Dad, he wasn’t mad. Mom was just sad that my trip had been ruined. Dad
called the insurance company who covered the replacement cost and got me a new
rental from the bookstore. Since then I have owned several SLR cameras. I am so
glad that a thief didn’t steal my passion.
Today’s
gift was to give away two computer printers that are especially good for printing
photographs. I hope the person receiving them has a passion like I had in
college—and never got stolen.
In
Giving,
Robin
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