They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I’ve come to learn that a picture is so much more than words. It’s a smile, a laugh, a good cry, the friend you don’t see nearly often enough, you and your Maw-Maw cooking in the kitchen together, and the first time you got to hold your babies in your arms praying you didn’t drop them on the hospital floor because your wife went to a whole lot of trouble to get them into this world.

 

When I was a given a camera for the first time in 2016, I never dreamed how photography would become an integral part of my life, and I never could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams the places it would take me. From Miami to Atlanta to Manhattan to Memphis to Tuscaloosa to New Orleans to Austin to Las Cruces, my camera has been my ticket and travel partner.

 

Three years ago when COVID kept us at home, I obviously couldn’t go anywhere, and I had nothing and no one to photograph except my five year old son Davis. I’d bring my camera out for our epic front yard soccer matches and grab some shots while the home team’s captain was warming up. “Hey, Dad! See if you can get this jump!” became a common phrase as I would shoot in rapid succession as Davis performed his best acrobatic routines on his trampoline.

 

After a few weeks, my subject became more and more interested in taking his own photos, and the spontaneous sessions turned into deliberate photo walks around our back yard: me armed with my camera and him armed with an old hand-me-down camera I passed on to him earlier that spring. We took pictures of lizards, clouds, flowers, trees, and Davis would beam with pride every time he showed me his photos. Some were quite the artistic choice, but others were really good! I could tell he had a great eye, and he had potential to take some amazing photos.

 

Over the course of the next two years, I took every opportunity I could to allow him to explore and shoot whatever and whenever he wanted to. We staged photoshoots with action figures. We traveled together to portrait sessions, and I gave him my camera anytime he asked while we were waiting on our client to change outfits. It was an amazing experience to watch my son fall in love with photography and to see how much his confidence began to grow as he became more and more comfortable behind the camera. “Hey, Dad. Look at this shot!” “Hey, Dad! Can I take a picture of that?” “Hey, Dad. What if I climbed in that tree and took a picture?” The questions and the curiosity never stopped, and I loved every minute of it.

This past fall, I had the opportunity to be on the sidelines for Ruston High’s magical football season that culminated in the Caesar’s Superdome in New Orleans. Affectionally known as “the tribal chief,” a moniker taken from his favorite WWE superstar Roman Reigns, Davis joined me at every game. At Homecoming, he was my second shooter, and he took some absolutely amazing photos that any sports photographer, including myself, would have been proud to have captured. We were there for the ending of the streak with West Monroe.

 

We traveled together down to Denham Springs, and we celebrated on the turf together when the Bearcats punched their ticket to NOLA with a win over Zachary. This past January, I became the photographer for Bayou Independent Wrestling, and the tribal chief and I have traveled to shows in Fountain Hill, Arkansas, Vicksburg, and Brookhaven, Mississippi, so far this year. If you’ve been to a Ruston High Basketball game this season, odds are you’ve seen the fuzzy headed kid in the stands or on the sideline next to me.

 

I do my best to soak it all in and enjoy the time we get to spend together. I know one day, I’ll ask Davis if he wants to go to a game with me, and he’ll have something better to do, or he’ll be too cool to be seen in public with me. It never gets old seeing my name in the byline of a photo caption, but getting to do something I love with the boy I love the most is truly the best part of sports photography for me.

 

On the road trip down to Denham Springs, somewhere after Vidalia and in between bites of his Dodge’s chicken strips, Davis asked, “Dad, is it OK if I like the parts where we ride together, talk, and listen to music on the way there and the way back more than I like the games we go to?”

 

After I caught my breath, composed myself, and wiped my misty eyes, I said, “Of course it is.” He smiled, took another bite of chicken, and stared out the window at the passing scenery.

 

I stared for a moment at the not-so-little boy with curly brown hair and fiery green eyes in my rearview mirror, and thought to myself, “Those parts are my favorite, too.”