For the past 3 years, I have had the privilege of photographing my son’s football games from the field. I don’t like football, but I love watching him play. And, secretly, standing on the sidelines in the midst of a messy jumble of sweaty, armored teens erupting in shouts is something that grew on me in ways I never expected. The constant motion of the machine of a team, the focus, the camaraderie. From the loudest shouts to the barely audible pep talk of one player to another. I grew to love it. And, I see it as a complete privilege that I was granted permission to be in that space, to share a tidbit of my son’s experience as a football player.
As most of you know, Perez has had the dream to be an NFL quarterback since 6th grade, a year before I was finally coerced enough to let him play. That dream has swelled and deflated and changed shape and acquired wisdom and been forced down a different path many times over the past 6 years. And, well, that is currently not the make-up of the dream anymore. But, the process of those years has been vitally influential and has taken energy and commitment and devotion. And a willingness to morph and flux and change.
Perez has given so much of his life to this activity. He has been dedicated to learning, staying up late studying playbooks, practicing after practice, working his body to exhaustion. Building up teammates, sticking through failures. The whole deal. It’s a lot. Football is a lot.
And when you spend 4 years of high school going into battle with the kids standing next to you and the coaches who have raised you and you have sharpened up and sucked up and went over and above everything that was expected of you to give to something you love for a damn long time and it ends… well, the feels of all of those things flood into a boy all at once. The memories of all things put into this one thing. The release of so many emotions that weren’t ever given space until the finality of the last game.
In addition to digital, I shot two rolls of film that night. There was something monumental that needed to be honored. His devotion, his energy, his effort; important moments that needed to be preserved and made permanent.
Shockingly, I realized these are the very first images I have of my son in film. At 18 years old.
I can promise you they will not be the last.
And, that will not be his last. Last high school game, yes. But, there is a promising future ahead for him. We don’t know all the details quite yet, but this year begs to show us even more of what this kid is capable of on that field.
