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On my way home from work recently, I saw a tiny girl riding a little bike with training wheels. Her dad was a few feet in front of her, urging her on from behind a video camera. I don’t know what it was about the scene, but it seemed like the little girl was smiling more for the camera than the thrill of the ride. Her dad seemed more intent on getting the shot right than on this new accomplishment by his daughter. I may have misread what I saw; they may not even have been father and daughter. But over the years I have witnessed something like this often. Many people miss the special moments in life with their need to capture them for the future.

I’m not against video cameras, though we didn’t want one while our kids were growing up. I think it’s nice to have a clip here and there and remember how friends and family members moved and what they sounded like. But some of us are obsessed with capturing the lives of our children, as though if it’s not on film, we can’t trust ourselves to keep the memories. Since I’ve not used them much, I don’t know for sure, but it is my impression that if you are viewing these moments through a lens or on a tiny LCD screen, you are missing much of the experience. And at these times, shouldn’t your kid share the experience with you and not the camera?

It goes beyond videos. I’ve known people who save every school paper, every art project, every report card, every birthday card, clothes, and toys. I’m all in favor of saving the special things. One of our daughters was really attached to a Smurf sweatshirt when she was two, and our son to a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sweater when he was five, we still have them. We kept the art projects the kids were particularly proud of and mementos that were especially meaningful. Maybe it’s because our house isn’t big enough to store the entirety of our kids lives, but we let most of the stuff go.

I sometimes wonder about the kids who have so much of their lives saved for them. Is it a gift or a burden? They surely can’t take it all with them when they move out. Does it just stay with their parents ’til they downsize later in life? Does it take on an importance that makes it hard to get rid of later on? How many times do the hours and hours of film get watched, and if they do, what isn’t happening during that time that could?

When our kids were babies, I could in no way comprehend how fast the time would go by. It’s something we hear often and in some way we know it’s true. But here we are, a quarter of a century gone by in a flash. When we all get together is it the stuff that’s important? Sometimes we look at it, or break out the photos and reminisce, but it’s the memories that count. What’s interesting is that we don’t all necessarily have the same take on past events. We each offer our version or slant, sometimes adding details previously unrevealed. And we laugh. To store up real memories, we have to share experiences. We do this by being there, truly and fully. I just think this is better done without a camera always in the way.