Photograph 1

He’s old enough to walk, but likely still falls sometimes when running. To his right is a decently pruned bush. Something tended on occasional weekends. The paint job and windows of the house behind him suggest he’s in a family of suburban middle class. That and the distance between him on the walkway and the photographer on the lawn. Too much space to be urban. Not enough exterior flourish or cultivation to be rich.

He looks well fed. That’s not a euphemism for fat, but that he drinks his milk and eats his vegetables every day. Someone puts care into what he wears, as the blue of his pants and shirt stripes match his eyes. He also looks like he gets enough attention, though not too much. Probably the boy of the family. And, like most boys his age, he’s got a mix of mischief and imagination about him. He’s cupping some type of ball in his hands.

A long, yellow, plastic stick-type thing leans on the front door landing behind him. He’s alone in the photo. And the way he’s looking, or not looking, at the camera suggests that the photographer is a family member. Or someone else familiar. I don’t think he’s in school yet. There’s an ease, an impression that he’s got the whole day, limitless days, sprawled ahead of him, that the schedule of a school day hasn’t touched.