Nobody knows what I’m talking about but when a photographic opportunity pops up today, I always shout, “Get your camera, Vern!”
I used to hear this phrase when my mother would see something that few folks recognized as memorable. She would shout, “Get your camera, Vern!” and my dad would rush around looking for his trusty Polaroid.
These cameras were so cool. Vern would take a picture and, showing the magic of the time, he’d pull the negative out of the camera. He’d wait for 30 seconds or so, then strip back this thin sheet and voilà! A color photograph would slowly appear.
I have dozens of Vern’s works of art in my trunk. He never caught Irene’s magic moment, always arriving on scene two minutes after “the two swallows were kissing” or “Mamie Eisenhower was waving from the parade.” And now those vivid colors have turned to a faded orange and yellow.
But you know what? I wouldn’t trade a single one of those Polaroid photos. I see the bright colors of my youth shining through.