Face of an angel
When Jackson was younger he had this thick, sun-streaked hair and tan skin that turned heads wherever we went. We lived in Miami, six blocks from the beach. Every day I loaded up the kids in the double jogger and we walked miles around town, from library to park to grocery store to beach. Our favorite beach spot was near the giant pier that jutted out into the water. A crowd of fisherman gathered at the end and pelicans hovered overhead looking for a catch. This spot was also a favorite for magazine photo shoots. When we strolled by, the photographers would whisper in French and hand me their card. “Bring your son to our next casting call,” they always told me.
So for a brief moment in time, I considered throwing Jackson into the modeling arena–he would’ve looked great on the cover of a LIFE cereal box, don’t you think? I went so far as to fill out the paperwork involved. Then I heard more about these casting calls. They involved two basic things: standing in line and following directions. Jackson had many wonderful toddler qualities, but these were not two of them. Ahem.
So Jackson’s career as a model was ended before it began. But the other day I was thinking about that casting application, after snapping this picture of Asher:
I remember nothing about the application, except that under the paragraph about including a photo of your child, it said in bold letters: “Please do not send a picture of your child with food on his/her face.”
This was such an delightful warning on so many levels. First, to merit such a warning must have meant that this was a common problem. And second, it confirmed my theory that food on your own child’s face is positively adorable, but on the face of any other child, is really gross.
It says something about the love of parents, doesn’t it, that we take such delight in this, and want to broadcast it to the world?