One of the questions I often ask my clients is what traits they think they've inherited from their parents. With the approach of Father's Day I got to thinking about my Dad who passed away over twenty years ago and his influence on my life. There are the obvious things such as being a positive role model and providing financial and emotional security for my family but a more subtle one has turned out to be very significant as well: My Dad loved to take home movies. And he took these starting back in the early 1940s when my 6 older siblings were young and continued this chronicle through the 50s and early 60s adding me and three other children along the way. The first films are in a grainy black and white shot on a 16 mm movie camera with no sound. These are short clips and as in most home videos, they more than likely record a new baby or a holiday. The films improve over the years with color and better quality images but he never changed cameras. Even though one DVD will hold all of the footage he took over the years, they vividly reflect a lot of my family's history as I was growing up. And that impression has always stayed with me. When our children were young, we bought a video camera even though our funds were limited because when capturing those moments, you don't get a second chance.
When I conduct interviews or create a tribute for a client, I will ask if they have any home movies they would like me to take snips of to include in the DVD. Often, the reply is that their family never used a video camera and have only still pictures. This is not necessarily related to the family's economic situation; it's often something that just never occurred to the family to do. I'm grateful to my Dad for showing me how priceless video can truly be and for providing a treasured family keepsake along the way.
You can see snippets of his home movies starting in the 8th minute of a tribute I did for my mother's 90th birthday; in fact, it ends with some footage he took around 1940 of my mother on a scooter.
Bridget Poizner
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
If only our brains came with a memory chip...
A question I get asked again and again is - 'What is the ultimate format to store digital photographs and files on?' Unfortunately there is no pat answer to that. The technology hasn't been invented yet that won't go obsolete in a few years and while that doesn't bode well with our plans for organizing and preserving our personal archives for posterity in one swift, effortless swoop, the good news is that there's always a bridge.
The photographs of my parents that began with their honeymoon were Polaroid. There were many that were black and white. Then came color. Then matte and glossy. Then they turned digital. Today, one can even store 30-40 digital photographs on a keychain the size of a folded dollar bill. When the trend began to move toward digital, my father invested in a scanner the size of a coffee table - maybe even a little bigger. First we stored them on floppy disks. Then came CDs and DVDs. Today the scanners themselves are compact, with a processing time of less than half that it took six years ago.
The question was posed to me again at a recent presentation in Round Rock, TX - what is the next big thing and how can we stay a step ahead. I gave the most honest answer I could - there's no knowing what the next thing is going to be. Or the one after it. Maybe it will be 3-D holograms. Maybe our memories will be digitized and stored in our brain's archive the moment they take place. Maybe human beings will have chips implanted in our minds. Who is to say? What is reassuring is that there is always a technological bridge that enables the continuation of our archives. From paper to digital and then who knows what.
The real question is - will we take the time to do the transfer? Till recently, my own family was guilty of hoarding home movies on VCR cassettes. And I bet you anything there are young adults today who have never seen one! It took the dedication and single-minded focus of my husband to transfer those home videos onto DVDS, and then also store a copy online... just in case!
It seemed like an intimidating and impossible task before we sat down to tackle it, but after a few evenings over a few days, we now had digital legacies of his childhood, and with that, all the crazy things little boys do when they're growing up. Climbing on to the roof of the house, imaginary sword fights, terrorizing innocent cats on the prowl... the most endearing part was watching my husband's mother watch these videos for the first time in 25 years. "You did that?"
It's a wonder how little boys survive their childhoods to become men.
Aditi
The photographs of my parents that began with their honeymoon were Polaroid. There were many that were black and white. Then came color. Then matte and glossy. Then they turned digital. Today, one can even store 30-40 digital photographs on a keychain the size of a folded dollar bill. When the trend began to move toward digital, my father invested in a scanner the size of a coffee table - maybe even a little bigger. First we stored them on floppy disks. Then came CDs and DVDs. Today the scanners themselves are compact, with a processing time of less than half that it took six years ago.
The question was posed to me again at a recent presentation in Round Rock, TX - what is the next big thing and how can we stay a step ahead. I gave the most honest answer I could - there's no knowing what the next thing is going to be. Or the one after it. Maybe it will be 3-D holograms. Maybe our memories will be digitized and stored in our brain's archive the moment they take place. Maybe human beings will have chips implanted in our minds. Who is to say? What is reassuring is that there is always a technological bridge that enables the continuation of our archives. From paper to digital and then who knows what.
The real question is - will we take the time to do the transfer? Till recently, my own family was guilty of hoarding home movies on VCR cassettes. And I bet you anything there are young adults today who have never seen one! It took the dedication and single-minded focus of my husband to transfer those home videos onto DVDS, and then also store a copy online... just in case!
It seemed like an intimidating and impossible task before we sat down to tackle it, but after a few evenings over a few days, we now had digital legacies of his childhood, and with that, all the crazy things little boys do when they're growing up. Climbing on to the roof of the house, imaginary sword fights, terrorizing innocent cats on the prowl... the most endearing part was watching my husband's mother watch these videos for the first time in 25 years. "You did that?"
It's a wonder how little boys survive their childhoods to become men.
Aditi
Saturday, May 7, 2011
What's Love Got To Do With It? Everything!
With Mother’s Day upon us, I find myself thinking about how lucky I was to have a mother who indeed was worth celebrating. Though she passed away a few months ago, the example of her behavior and love has had and will continue to have a great influence on me. And that legacy directly affected how I raised my own children. I am so grateful that the path she followed has helped make my own journey such a joyful one.
It wasn’t that she was a perfect mother. She did a few things that a psychologist might have raised an eyebrow at but considering she and my father had ten children, a few mistakes were bound to be made when raising us. What she did seem to be perfect at was how she made all of us feel equally loved.
One thing that is very comforting to me is that I have several hours of audio and video interviews of her sharing stories of her life. I conducted most of these interviews before I began creating video biographies professionally. These are now such a wonderful link to memories of her. For instance some of my sibling would sometimes tease her about how she couldn’t carry a tune but that never stopped her from singing in church or singing to us. Now I have video proof that though her pitch might not have been perfect, her intent was.
Mom, we were truly blessed to have you in our lives.
Bridget Poizner
Saturday, March 19, 2011
You want me to talk about myself for an hour?
Two days ago, I got to know a very interesting and accomplished couple in the course of making their video biography. Even though their children had gifted them the biography sessions 4 months ago, it took them so long to get their busy schedules in order - and to prepare themselves mentally for the task of sitting in front of a camera and talking about themselves for two hours. Their words, not mine. And yes, they did use the word 'task'! Of course they were very gracious and delightful, but I sensed a challenge as I set up my equipment. Not all interview subjects are forthcoming and it's harder still when they happen to be unconvinced of the worth of their stories.
To their credit, once the camera started rolling and the questions were posed, they did a great job. I sensed some reticence when talking about unpleasant memories associated with childhood and the people they remember from it, but that's understandable. After all, baring your heart to a complete stranger takes some trust, and I would probably be wary too in a similar situation. But together, we persevered and prevailed!
Before launching into their joint interview, it was time for a quick lunch break. And I was warned that it was my turn to be interviewed during the interlude! In the next 30 minutes, the roles were reversed and I was led down events in my own past so that my two brave and endearing subjects could get a better sense of the person grilling them. After waxing eloquent about my grandmother (yes, she came up!), growing up in a developing country, juggling family dynamics across three continents, and plans for my future, there was a lull of companionable silence. The line had been crossed. Perhaps I passed muster because I sensed that from clients, they had now become friends.
When we resumed recording for the part of their lives that they had spent together, raising a family, growing up, and growing old together, there was energy in the air. They were relaxed and animated at the same time. The conversation flowed easy, and they volunteered stories that I did not need to ask for. What was supposed to be a 20-minute conversation on video went a little beyond one hour. And when we parted ways, it was with a hug.
The most interesting observation that whole day was made by the elderly gentleman over lunch. He said (and I'm paraphrasing here!), it's a good thing our children sent you to do this because there sure wasn't any way I was going to sit down and talk about myself for an hour. But I'm glad we did this. I'm glad we did this.
Well, so am I.
Aditi
To their credit, once the camera started rolling and the questions were posed, they did a great job. I sensed some reticence when talking about unpleasant memories associated with childhood and the people they remember from it, but that's understandable. After all, baring your heart to a complete stranger takes some trust, and I would probably be wary too in a similar situation. But together, we persevered and prevailed!
Before launching into their joint interview, it was time for a quick lunch break. And I was warned that it was my turn to be interviewed during the interlude! In the next 30 minutes, the roles were reversed and I was led down events in my own past so that my two brave and endearing subjects could get a better sense of the person grilling them. After waxing eloquent about my grandmother (yes, she came up!), growing up in a developing country, juggling family dynamics across three continents, and plans for my future, there was a lull of companionable silence. The line had been crossed. Perhaps I passed muster because I sensed that from clients, they had now become friends.
When we resumed recording for the part of their lives that they had spent together, raising a family, growing up, and growing old together, there was energy in the air. They were relaxed and animated at the same time. The conversation flowed easy, and they volunteered stories that I did not need to ask for. What was supposed to be a 20-minute conversation on video went a little beyond one hour. And when we parted ways, it was with a hug.
The most interesting observation that whole day was made by the elderly gentleman over lunch. He said (and I'm paraphrasing here!), it's a good thing our children sent you to do this because there sure wasn't any way I was going to sit down and talk about myself for an hour. But I'm glad we did this. I'm glad we did this.
Well, so am I.
Aditi
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Difficult memories and the art of conversation
Giving voice to one's life story can be a challenging exercise. Many of us have stories tucked away that we do not want to revisit because of the feelings of shame, guilt, pain or grief that they may resurrect. Yet for all the powerful attempts at 'tucking away', are these memories ever totally banished?
I enrolled in a memoir writing class last month. When I tried to answer why, I explained to myself that this would help me in my client interactions; help me better understand the process of remembering that I attempt to lead the people in front of the camera on. That was part of the answer but as another part of me frowned at this need to rationalize why I would want to write about my memories from childhood, I acknowledged that it was an attempt to get to know myself better. Many people whom I have been privileged to create video biographies of have commented on how the process of telling stories, retrieving memories and reflecting on the important people in their lives leads them to connect the dots between their perception of themselves and how they came to be this way. It's as if the answers were always there in their minds, only the words to articulate them had proven elusive. So talking about their memories during the video biography interview felt like someone had just added sub-titles to the reel running in their head, and had added all the background information and character motivations for it all to seem crystal clear!
That's the experience I had two days ago when writing a seemingly innocent account of the foods I remember from my childhood, and why I still hadn't purged them from my system. What was supposed to be 500 words flooded shamelessly onto 7 pages. I always knew I enjoyed food (!) but what really surprised me were the things I associated them with. And the memories I had forgotten I knew suddenly introduced themselves again. I waxed eloquent about potatoes and funerals, sweets and fasting, rice pudding and religion, and in this mish mash of ingredients, I got to know myself a little bit better. Someone else in my class commented on how this writing prompt brought some difficult memories to mind... memories about a hard childhood where food was difficult to come by. And the things that needed to be done for survival. At first it seemed impossible to produce words that would express the conflicting feelings of shame and maturity. Words that other people would read or hear about. Words that brought up memories locked away with the key swallowed for safety. But once they did start to trickle out letter by letter, it brought a sense of understanding. Forgiveness. And the opportunity for the entire family to open up about something they had all experienced but never discussed.
It was not easy. But sometimes, easy is not necessarily the order of the day.
Aditi
I enrolled in a memoir writing class last month. When I tried to answer why, I explained to myself that this would help me in my client interactions; help me better understand the process of remembering that I attempt to lead the people in front of the camera on. That was part of the answer but as another part of me frowned at this need to rationalize why I would want to write about my memories from childhood, I acknowledged that it was an attempt to get to know myself better. Many people whom I have been privileged to create video biographies of have commented on how the process of telling stories, retrieving memories and reflecting on the important people in their lives leads them to connect the dots between their perception of themselves and how they came to be this way. It's as if the answers were always there in their minds, only the words to articulate them had proven elusive. So talking about their memories during the video biography interview felt like someone had just added sub-titles to the reel running in their head, and had added all the background information and character motivations for it all to seem crystal clear!
That's the experience I had two days ago when writing a seemingly innocent account of the foods I remember from my childhood, and why I still hadn't purged them from my system. What was supposed to be 500 words flooded shamelessly onto 7 pages. I always knew I enjoyed food (!) but what really surprised me were the things I associated them with. And the memories I had forgotten I knew suddenly introduced themselves again. I waxed eloquent about potatoes and funerals, sweets and fasting, rice pudding and religion, and in this mish mash of ingredients, I got to know myself a little bit better. Someone else in my class commented on how this writing prompt brought some difficult memories to mind... memories about a hard childhood where food was difficult to come by. And the things that needed to be done for survival. At first it seemed impossible to produce words that would express the conflicting feelings of shame and maturity. Words that other people would read or hear about. Words that brought up memories locked away with the key swallowed for safety. But once they did start to trickle out letter by letter, it brought a sense of understanding. Forgiveness. And the opportunity for the entire family to open up about something they had all experienced but never discussed.
It was not easy. But sometimes, easy is not necessarily the order of the day.
Aditi
Sunday, December 26, 2010
'Tis the season to be jolly
The best part about the holiday season is celebrating it together with the whole family, from across the many cities, states and countries we otherwise normally reside in. Over the past week, I've had the good fortune of playing Aunt to two young and spunky nephews and one adorable niece. And it's interesting to see how their young minds process familial relationships.
"Did you know that I'm your Daddy's daddy?" asked my father-in-law of his eldest grandchild.
The look of utter astonishment on the young boy's face was priceless. We all fitted in the neat tidy labels he had stuck on us from the time that he could talk. Grandpa. Grandma. Uncle. Aunt. Mom. Dad. But how they connected - or that they connected at all - was too much of a revelation!
It made me think of the first time I found out my mother's mother's real name was not Nani. I must have been around eight, and was in the process of writing out her address on an envelope that would carry my first real letter to her. I was just about to address it to 'Nani' when my mother swooped in at the appropriate moment. At first, I thought it was a joke, and I'm not sure exactly what tipped me off that it wasn't (maybe it was my seven-years-older sister cackling loudly at my apparent ignorance), but once the fact sunk in, I remember feeling oddly foolish. That I did not even know this wonderful, loving and always smiling woman's name.
Years later, I had a similar feeling when my father's mother passed away. I was much older then. But what left me feeling foolish this time around was that though I knew her name and a few other personal details, I didn't know much else about her. Like why she had her name tattooed on to her wrist, or what was it like to be a police officer's wife, or what was it like to have her youngest sister be born in the same year that she had had her first child?
My nephew will have his turn in figuring out the essentials. Learning what's important and what's not. I just hope we do a better job of filling in the blanks.
The holiday season sure is a time for family. Past. Present. And new. :)
Aditi
"Did you know that I'm your Daddy's daddy?" asked my father-in-law of his eldest grandchild.
The look of utter astonishment on the young boy's face was priceless. We all fitted in the neat tidy labels he had stuck on us from the time that he could talk. Grandpa. Grandma. Uncle. Aunt. Mom. Dad. But how they connected - or that they connected at all - was too much of a revelation!
It made me think of the first time I found out my mother's mother's real name was not Nani. I must have been around eight, and was in the process of writing out her address on an envelope that would carry my first real letter to her. I was just about to address it to 'Nani' when my mother swooped in at the appropriate moment. At first, I thought it was a joke, and I'm not sure exactly what tipped me off that it wasn't (maybe it was my seven-years-older sister cackling loudly at my apparent ignorance), but once the fact sunk in, I remember feeling oddly foolish. That I did not even know this wonderful, loving and always smiling woman's name.
Years later, I had a similar feeling when my father's mother passed away. I was much older then. But what left me feeling foolish this time around was that though I knew her name and a few other personal details, I didn't know much else about her. Like why she had her name tattooed on to her wrist, or what was it like to be a police officer's wife, or what was it like to have her youngest sister be born in the same year that she had had her first child?
My nephew will have his turn in figuring out the essentials. Learning what's important and what's not. I just hope we do a better job of filling in the blanks.
The holiday season sure is a time for family. Past. Present. And new. :)
Aditi
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Preaching What I Practice
I have always emphasized how meaningful video biographies can be for families after a loved one has passed away. I’m made aware of that all of the time when I receive notes from clients who notify me of the death of someone they had me interview and how the recording is a consolation for them. Recently, with the death of my own mother, I am personally experiencing this kind of significance since over the last few years I conducted several interviews of her sharing stories as well as her personal philosophy.
With the holiday season here, I strongly suggest that you try and record some of your family’s interactions and stories. It probably won’t be until years later that you will fully appreciate that you made the effort to do so.
Bridget Poizner
