Playa-ble

She wasn't playing.

"You always make me look like a little girl," she said in exasperation. Cheeks too full. Expression too invested in whatever it was that occupied her. Caught in my eye, she saw only the baby she'd been in the old picture albums.

The mysterious teenager she has been cultivating in the mirror was nowhere to be found.

Though she agreed, for old-times' sake, to let me take pictures of her in the waning light of latest summer, the procedure was entirely new.

The edges of her hair took on the gold of the sun. It crept past her ears and spilled onto her cheeks just enough to add glow.

She tilted her head to the side and made a face. The expression was a practiced one: nose scrunched and lips pursed. Eyes small and sharp. The loo seems to be all-knowing, all-seeing.

One click, and then another. Looking toward the lens and then quickly away.

It was clear who was in charge. I merely followed her lead. 

"Ok, show me."

I handed over the camera while looking off in the distance as if it were some item of contraband. 

We weren't the only tourists trying to mark the occasion taking pictures as we walked in the sand, though my daughter tends to appear more selfie conscious than your average teen.

But other kids were traveling around with their friends, holding pocket cameras. She was being trailed by her mother, with what anyone under two-decades-old could plainly see was The Hubble Telescope.

People smiled at me as they passed by; all of them still the wiser. Their kids were likely nearby, equally oblivious to our presence.

"Ughhhhh!" She uttered in a low growl as she scrolled through the pictures I'd just taken. Making, even more, sounds I wished I could mute.

"I look terrible. You are waaaaay too close."

She explains her process: her face must be partially obscured (on both sides) evenly by her hair. The bones of her cheeks can't rise or fall any discernible distance, and she must be looking straight ahead. She prefers portraits taken from the back ... Christina's World" style.

She handed the camera to me and got back into formation. This time we each backed away as if we were challenging one another to a duel.

"Should I try again?"

"You should try again."

The sun was setting on the beach, and we were losing the light.

My timing was off, too. But my daughter's agreeance to stare into my lens took me by surprise.

"Stand there," she instructed. Positioning me as an opposing force to the sunset. "Raise the camera higher .... higher still."

I did as instructed and just snapped away as she leaned in, and then turned out and, finally, tilted sideways. 

No more than a minute went by.

"That's enough. Let me see," she said as I handed over the gear.

"Oh ... there are actually some good ones. Nice going, mom. You've finally let me grow up."