Mr. Cole

Known and Unknown

My husband and my daughter, 2014

I have many images of strangers in my back catalog of photos. Most were taken before the height of social media. Sometimes I’d take candid photos of strangers by accident:


I was trying to capture my husband and daughter riding a fair ride that was sailing past me at high speed, and I took several pictures of other people on the ride before I timed the photo correctly.

I don’t know what to do about my photos with unknown subjects. I’ve thought about posting them on Facebook in the hope that the system’s facial recognition software will auto-tag the subjects, letting them know that the photo exists. I’ve hesitated to do this because I’m uncertain of the reaction this process could generate. People could be delighted to find a moment of the past that they thought was lost, but they might be creeped out by it.

To complicate matters, I respect the art of street photography and have enjoyed creating some images that do belong to that genre. I doubted that such images would ever be published, but now the world is saturated with digital publication, especially through social media. Publication is so omnipresent that one can more easily avoid leaving the house than publishing oneself.

The above photo of the two girls is one of my favorite photos of strangers. Those girls are probably in high school by now. If someone had a picture like that of my daughter in her younger years, I’d be thrilled to see it. Then again, I am somewhat fluent in the language of photos, so I wouldn’t be bothered if I were surprised with a photo taken by someone else. The world is now full of cameras. It is almost inevitable that there are images and footage of each one of us that we’ve yet to see.


Friday Evening

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I don’t think I’ve ever been able to crouch that deeply without falling over or making parts of my legs fall asleep. Like a liquid, I can be compressed no further. It’s a good thing my husband is limber enough to tend to the shorter plants in the garden.

He’s Got a Lot of Love to Give


My sister is wont to say that someone, whether animal or human, has a lot of love to give when it is highly unlikely such an observation is true about that subject. I have no idea if there is any irony in thinking that the hippo-costumed man in this picture also had lots of love to give as I could not see the expression on his face when my daughter approached him. We encountered him nine years ago during an ill-fated trip to the Toledo Zoo, when my daughter had one of her worst ever meltdowns at the snack bar because no straws or lids were available for the drinks (for good reason, to prevent wildlife-damaging litter).  By the time I took this picture, she was in a serene mood, having drained all of her tension through lid/straw protest.

Enough years have passed that I can discuss just how hard this era was for us. I had started working full time for the first time since before she was born, and she was freshly diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). Her school had urged me to get her evaluated at a counseling center because she was getting sent to the principal’s office several times a week. I released the center’s findings to the school, and they banned her from the end-of-year zoo field trip because of her diagnosis. There is no point in window dressing this episode: this damned-if-you-do/damned if you don’t scenario sucked, most of all for my daughter.

So we made a special trip to the zoo on the following weekend, which went well except for the royal tantrum at the snack bar. We had begun play therapy at the counseling center. While she actually liked her therapist, she needed a lot of persuasion to walk into the building to see him. Once she decided to take off running from the center rather than go inside. This was not a good thing for two reasons: the center was situated in a crime-ridden part of our city, and I weighed around 250 pounds at the time. Once I caught up to her, I could not get her back to the center without carrying her. By the time we reached the building, my heart felt like it was going to explode from all of the exertion, and I wished that the ground would open and swallow me whole.

In the intervening years, I lost the excess weight, and my daughter mellowed out. She was diagnosed with autism last year, and the diagnosing psychologist looked at her history and mentioned that ODD was likely a misdiagnosis along the way.

Looking at this picture shows me that we both survived and had many bright moments along the way, even if we labored in darkness for so long.

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